


Dragons, Arrows and Blacksmiths

by yellow_crayon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Bard's children, BAMF Bilbo, Bard becomes Legolas's babysitter, Bard gets snatched away, Bottom Bard, Dragons, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Eventual Smut, Fili is a gentleman, Gandalf Meddles, Good Parent Bard, Kíli/Tauriel Fluff, M/M, Single Parents, Snark, Thranduil is a dragon, Thranduil's bad parenting skills, True Mates, how to train your dragon, there will be some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_crayon/pseuds/yellow_crayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But, but I thought dragons only picked comely young virgins." Bard argued. </p><p>(Dragon!Thranduil attacks Bard's village and a certain unfortunate blacksmith gets 'chosen'.)</p><p>Basically an AU of what Middle Earth would be like if Thranduil were a Dragon instead of an Elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I proudly sat through all the LOTR movies, the first two Hobbit movies without shipping any pairings, and I was going to keep it that way, but cruel fate...oh dear. Now I ship everyone. :O
> 
> I have taken the liberty to reshape the land and people, it is a dragon AU after all. Oh, and Thranduil has a human form. 
> 
> I made a new tumblr account!! (I forgot my old one... *hangs head in shame*) You can follow me at yellowcrayonposts XD
> 
> Chinese translation available: http://www.movietvslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=154147

Bard was almost done packing the fine yew bow for Aragorn when the bell from the Laketown sentry tower started to ring, the loud reverberating booms so deep and loud he could almost feel it vibrating through his bones. Aragorn smiled at him when Bard absently handed the slender package to the young hunter and dropped a bag of coins in the blacksmith's palm in return. Bard didn't bother counting the money. Aragorn was an honest lad and he was starting to become worried at the sound coming from the bell tower. He was up to four and counting.

The sentry tower of Laketown, usually unoccupied, save for the old minister's lazy apprentice, usually remained silent during spring seasons. But past experience told Bard three rings signaled a town meeting, four served as a warning for approaching storms, five for orcs, goblins and ogres, six meant... Well six only happened every ten years, or longer if they were lucky.

Six meant _dragons_.

When Bard was a child, his mother used to tell him hushed stories about great winged beasts that roamed the open sky, massive things with wings that could block out the sun and whose bodies were impenetrable even with the sharpest steel. They were vicious and notorious hoarders and preyed on comely young virgins, or so his mother had warned him. His parents, fisher-folks, had never seen a dragon before and their tiny village lived in relative peace. Of course the peaceful times didn't last, and the dragon that had destroyed his home and killed his parents had gotten away. He would never forget the pitch-black beast, with its fiery red eyes and bat-like wings, like a demon silhouetted against the bright flames consuming his home. Bard had vowed to bring it down with his own bare hands when he moved to Laketown.

"Dragon! It's a dragon!" The baker's wife shrieked, nearly flattened his face with her ample bosoms when she caught him by the shoulders and shook Bard like a tiny sapling. He spluttered, snapping out of his thoughts, and saw the baker glaring at him from their shop window. Bard stepped hurriedly away from the baker's wife when she tried subtly to swoon in his direction and squinted up at the clear blue sky. It was a nice day, no clouds and the sun a bright orange disk in the clear blue sky.

Then he saw it.

Pale and glittering like a small speck of blue-white diamond in the sky, the dragon circled a few times above their panicking village before making a steep sharp dive. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of pure liquid grace and power.

"Da, what is it?" His daughter Sigrid poked her head out of the little blacksmith forge and found him standing there with the bakery's wife. She frowned and Bard jumped into action with a reassuring smile.

"It's a dragon, Sig. Get back inside, grab your siblings and don't come back out until I come to get you. It's going to be okay." He planted a hurried kiss on top of her head and ducked back inside to look for his longbow, a thick heavyset thing carved from the finest yew and engraved with silver-steel filigree, his finest piece.

By the time he stepped back out, the villagers of Laketown had all gathered in one tiny huddle around the town square where the wizard, Gandalf the Grey was standing, staff in hand and peering up at the sky. The Master of Laketown was nowhere to be seen, as usual when it came to dangerous situations like this. Bard gritted his teeth and reached for his arrows.

Instead of incinerating them all in a ball of white-hot flames, the dragon spiraled twice before landing heavily on the giant statue of the founder of Laketown, some pot-bellied man with huge sideburns and a gleaming bald head carved out of white marble. The top of the head crumbled like eggshells under the great sharp claws of the dragon.

The dragon looked like no other Bard had ever seen, and he'd seen many in his thirty or so years living in Laketown, where dragon sightings were very numerous indeed. Unlike the other dragons, which were mostly a mixture of colors, this one was a pure brilliant white, with hints of pale blue in its shiny silvery scales. It opened its mouth to reveal sharp curved white teeth, a dark blue tongue and breathed out a thin stream of blue flames. Gandalf hurriedly whipped his pointed hat off just in time to avoid it catching fire.

Great glowing blue eye lowered to gaze down at the huddled townsfolk. Bard pushed his way past a few of the vegetable sellers and stopped next to the town's horse master, a tall bald man with arms as thick as Bard's waist. The horse master nodded gruffly at him.

The dragon growled and blew another jet of flames into the sky, its wings beating the still air. Gandalf shouted up at the beast in a language Bard did not understand. The conversation continued for a while until Gandalf heaved a weary sigh and turned back to the villagers with regret heavy in his features.

"We must gather our silvers and gems, my friends. The dragon will allow us to live if we give it what it desires." Gandalf's voice was weighed down with resignation. "And we must give up one of our own, as a token of trust to the Dragonlord of Mirkwood."

Bard has heard of Mirkwood before, an endless forest of trees as tall as the sky could reach standing at the foot of the Lonely Mountains. Legend said the mountains contained endless treasures and wealth for those brave enough to venture there. Legend also told that the bows fashioned from the ancient trees of Mirkwood never missed their mark.

All around him, people shifted restlessly, nervously glancing at each other. Bard's fingers twitched toward the longbow on his back, a minute little movement really, but the dragon's snakelike head snapped up in an instant, those glowing blue eyes focusing on the blacksmith of Laketown with scary intensity. It started beating its huge white leathery wings, the gusts stinging like knives in the close proximity as it rose.

Bard slitted his eyes with a curse and reached for his arrows. The villagers all around him were screaming and running, but Bard stood his ground. He was going to shoot the stupid beast right between its ugly blue eyes...

"NO!!!" Gandalf's bellow of warning made him freeze in the process, bow half-raised and arrow ready to shoot. The dragon regarded Bard with an almost regal distaste, white steam billowing dismissively from its nostrils. Gandalf was wheezing when he finally caught up to them. The dragon looked even bigger up close, if that was possible. Bard barely reached its knee and he was one of the tallest men in Laketown.

The dragon made a curious rumbling noise, halfway between a growl and a purr, eyes never leaving Bard's face as it dipped its head slowly in his direction.

"Oh, dear," Gandalf said faintly from behind one folded leathery wing.

"Can I shoot it now?" Bard growled, adjusting his grip on the bow and glaring back at the beast with equal gusto.

"It seems that the Dragonlord has chosen you as his prize to take back to the Lonely Moutains." Gandalf said gravely.

The words were so random and unexpected that Bard's fingers slipped and the notched arrow dropped pathetically to the ground.

"What did you say, Gandalf?" He asked, utterly perplexed.

The wizard repeated his words with an amazed shake of his wizened old head. The dragon stared down at Bard in superior haughtiness.

"But- but I thought dragons only picked comely young virgins." Bard argued feebly after an awkard pause.

Gandalf gave him a pitying look.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard sat all alone in the vast dark cavern, shoulders slumped in defeat and ears still ringing with the harsh cold whispers of the mountain wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't get Barduil out of my head. Ugh!!! I'm supposed to be working on my group project that's supposed to be due in three days, and I'm sneaking hours writing this fic!!! :( 
> 
> They have ruined my life with their handsomeness. :((((

Bard sat all alone in the vast dark cavern, shoulders slumped in defeat and ears still ringing with the harsh cold whispers of the mountain wind. The dragon had left him there after they'd landed somewhere deep in the Lonely Mountains and he hadn't seen it since. Bard rubbed at his freezing cheeks and winced when the touch came back moist. He'd cut his left cheek on one of the white dragon's sharp scales when they'd taken off to the distressed sounds of his children. Bard had only time for a hurried goodbye and young Aragorn's fierce promise that he would look after the children along with the other townsfolk. But Aragorn was barely out of his teens himself. Bard really doubted his ability to take care of three children. He sighed and swiped at his face again.

The blood had slowed to a sluggish dull throb on the way to the mountains, but he had just opened it again. Bard leaned back against the curiously dry and warm wall of the cave and closed his eyes wearily. He didn't know when, but he managed to slide into an uneasy sleep, flashes of fire, screaming people and his children's tearful faces taunting his dreams.

When Bard opened his eyes again, the world had turned to molten gold so bright it was painful to look upon. Gasping in shock, he shut his eyes and toppled over, the sound of coins and metal trinkets bouncing and clinking loud in his ears. A deep rumbling growl sounded to his right and Bard scooted back frantically, kicking up a shower of warm gold and small sharp rocks that he guessed to be precious gems. Bard stopped when he backed into something smooth and solid. He squinted past the white blobs in his vision and ran his hands over the object.

It wasn't the wall of a cave, more ridged and snake-like. Warm steam washed over Bard and the considerably smaller white dragon he was groping rumbled curiously at him.

"Spirits above," Bard stumbled back and fell ass-first into the mountain of gold. He grabbed the nearest bejeweled scepter and smacked the smaller dragon upside the head with a resounding bonk that echoed through the huge cavern. The furious deafening roar that followed probably singed a few strands of Bard's hair, but he supposed it was partially his fault for freaking out. The smaller dragon just blinked owlishly and shook its head a few times before crawling closer.

The mountain of gold shifted and shook and Bard whipped around to see the huge white dragon advancing menacingly. He bit his lip, screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for the pain that was about to come. Here was the grisly bit where the dragon would swallow him whole or worse, rip his limbs off with the smaller one, who Bard assumed was the larger dragon's child. His mother's dark tales about bloodthirsty dragons and innocent virgins were about to come true, well maybe not the virgin bit, but it was close enough. Bard hoped the dragon would make his death a quick one.

Instead, one large leathery wing knocked him sprawling and the smaller dragon blew out a delighted stream of pale fire and dropped its not so inconsiderable head right onto Bard's torso. If he had a full stomach, the force of it would probably have had the blacksmith regurgitating his breakfast all over the mountain of gold, instead Bard just heaved a few dry gags and saw stars.

Blinking back the black dots in his watering vision and gasping for breath, Bard looked up to see the larger dragon heave a contemptuous breath before lazing back to the top of its gold mountain, its long pale tail swishing from side to side as it settled.

The younger dragon rubbed its scaly head happily against Bard's chest, ripping his sturdy tunic in the process. Bard touched his burning cheek and sighed at the sight of blood on his fingers. At this rate, the wound would never heal. A hot moist tongue lathered his bleeding face in sticky dragon saliva and Bard closed his eyes in despair, but a few seconds later the smaller dragon pulled back with a pleased purr and dropped its head over Bard's legs, barely missing his crotch. The blacksmith touched his face and felt the smooth unmarked skin underneath.

Huh, so dragon spit had magical healing powers. _Who would have guessed?_

With nowhere to put his arms, Bard dropped a hand tentatively over the head in his lap, ghosting his fingers gently over the intricate scales. The smaller dragon made a happy content sound and nosed closer. He pulled his hand back. It tensed and hissed like an angry cat, blue eyes narrowing in warning. Bard fought the urge to sigh again and resumed the awkward petting.

Confused, hungry and pinned under a dragon thousands of leagues away from his family, but not dead. Yet.

He supposed it could have turned out worse.

 

* * *

 

Bard soon found out two things: one, the dragons had no intentions of eating him alive, or dead for that matter; and two, the caves under the Lonely Mountains were impossible to navigate without one of them chasing after him like a goddamn herding dog.

The first day he arrived in the Lonely Mountains, the large white dragon had crawled to the top of its considerable hoard of treasure and went to sleep without another contemptuous glance in Bard's direction. He spent a few hours petting the small one until his legs went numb from the lack of circulation and his bladder could no longer stand it. When it was distracted by a sparrow that had the misfortune of flying inside the cavern, Bard slipped out through one of the numerous tunnels.

Heart hammering in his chest, Bard broke into a soft run. He had to find an observation point, somewhere high so that he could make out the general direction of Laketown, of home and his children. But what then? If he did manage to escape, there was still the vast endless forest of Mirkwood to go through. The dragons knew where he lived. If he dared to brave their wrath, what about his family and town? He'd had a home destroyed by a dragon once, he wasn't going to allow it to happen again.

Urgency suddenly vanished, Bard slumped against the wall of the cave and screwed his eyes shut. He needed a plan of action, anything to keep the rising panic at bay. Bard's stomach chose that moment to remind him of its existence by rumbling so loud he was sure even the dragons in the cavern of treasures could hear it. Slapping his palm over his protesting belly, the blacksmith turned a corner and nearly walked right into the small white dragon again. He stumbled back with a startled shout and broke into a hurried run, the sounds of sharp claws scratching along rocky surfaces echoing behind him.

Left, left, right, the second tunnel, another left, a right and one more left turn later, Bard stumbled out into open air, the cool wind of the mountains buffeting his face and clothes. He looked around at the open space. There was a large lake in the center of the clearing, broken pieces of rocks littering the edge of the undisturbed pool. A few trees were dotted here and there, and above the lake, more cave openings gaped dark and intimidating. Bard put a hand over his eyes and squinted up at the open sky. It was still light out, the sun a faint orange disk low in the horizon, but night would be upon them soon.

Behind him, the small white dragon made a pleased trill and spread its wings awkwardly, creating a rush of wind that nearly sent Bard head-over-heels into the dark lake. He watched it hop oddly down to the lake, sliding into the water and rising with a gleaming fish in its mouth a second later. One of its wings had an ugly scar down the leathery webbing and a chunk of it was missing. A ghost of a memory tugged at Bard's mind. _One cold winter day, hunting in the woods, and chancing upon..._ No, it couldn't be possible. He must have imagined the whole thing. And even if it had been real, there was no way the little thing could have survived and grown up to become-

The young dragon crawled back to the blacksmith, shook itself off like a dog and carefully laid the fish at his feet. Bard wiped cold lake water off his face and squinted up at the dragon in confusion. After an awkward pause, the dragon tried to mash Bard's face into the raw fish with a hooked wing the size of his boat sails.

"Stop! What're you doing?" Bard stumbled back and wiped fish slime off his chin and beard with a sleeve. He grimaced and spat out a loose scale. The small white dragon mimed biting into the fish and nudged it over to him again, blue eyes expectant. Bard swallowed, an idea dawning on him.

"You want to feed me?" He ventured. It flailed happily and spread its wings. He took that as a yes.

"Well, I appreciate the effort, but we humans like to cook our meals first." Bard said, patting the unusually friendly dragon distractedly on its head as he looked around for some fallen branches. The blacksmith was in the middle of collecting kindle for a fire when a loud crack echoed through the clearing and the dragon came back with a whole sapling in its mouth, tail swishing excitedly from side to side. Bard dropped his pathetic handful of twigs and stared.

"Umm, I guess that'll do." He even managed a stiff smile this time.

The lake was teeming with fat fish and Bard snapped a sizable branch off the downed sapling, sharpened the end with a crude rock and stripped down to his small-clothes. He laid his clothes over a large boulder and glanced over at the dragon. It was watching him expectantly.

"Uh, stay?" He said before diving into the water.

 

* * *

 

As unusual as the blue flames were, it was warm and he was back in his clothes, comfortable and dry and waiting for his fish to cook. Bard's muscles ached in a pleasant tired way and there was a small pile of fish next to him. The fish did not recognize the small four-legged creature with a stick, so none tried very hard to flee. It was quite easy to catch so many.

His empty belly rumbled and Bard, grown man as he was, nearly burst into tears when he finally swallowed a mouthful of the tender fish, still hot from the fire. The dragon watched him curiously, curled next to Bard with its tail tucked neatly against its body. It had eaten two of the raw fish and opted to watch the human eat, fanning his mouth occasionally and making pleased grunting noises as he cooked another fish over the flames.

Bard groaned and swallowed, his empty stomach finally full. The dragon had inched closer during his dinner and it was nearly touching him, the smooth silver scales on its flank gleaming like diamonds in the hot blue flames. Bard loosened his breeches and leaned back against the creature. He was warm and full, and whatever grime he'd accumulated had washed away with the dunk in the lake. If the dragon suddenly decided to eat him, he'd die a satisfied man. The small dragon nosed at the cooked fish curiously and Bard pulled one off the flames, dangling it over its nose.

"Want to try it?" He asked. It blinked at him, cocking its head to the side, a familiar gesture all three of his children had synchronized just to make him laugh. The thought sent a twinge of sadness through him and Bard wondered if they had eaten yet, or if Tilda had stopped crying for her Da.

He pulled a chunk of steaming white flesh off and the dragon obediently opened its mouth. It perked up visibly after a few bites and Bard tried very hard not to laugh when the dragon nudged him expectantly for more. They finished the remaining fish and Bard stared into the crackling flames for a while in silence.

"I guess we haven't had a proper introduction yet, with all the running and swimming," he sat up and coughed a little to clear his throat. "I am Bard from Laketown, the little village by the river. I'm a blacksmith, I make weapons and sharp things."

He felt a bit ridiculous, but Bard pulled a blackened piece of wood from the fire and drew an anvil and a hammer on the sandy rock. He added a sword, a bow and a crudely drawn stick figure with curly hair, a few scraggly strands of facial hair and labeled it _"Bard"_. Then he added three more stick figures next to him, but smaller. It was the best he could do.

There was another loud snap and Bard ducked out of the way just in time to avoid a face-full of dry branches. The dragon adjusted its grip on the branch, sharp teeth sunk deep into the wood and leaned down to scratch at the sand. There was a wobbly squiggly thing that passed as a stick figure and before Bard could marvel at its intelligence, it was scratching what looked like a name into the ground. Bard squinted at it and opened his mouth.

"Le-go-las? _Legolas?_ Who is Legolas?" He asked, puzzled. The dragon dipped its head enthusiastically.

"You're Legolas?" He asked, amazed this time. "I didn't know dragons had names. What about Grumpy in the cave? He got a name, too?"

Legolas drew some more squiggly stuff on the ground. Bard peered down at the indecipherable symbols for a minute before shrugging, "sorry, I'm not getting any of that."

Legolas deflated and spat out the chewed up branch.

"So, are you a boy dragon or girl dragon?" Bard wondered out loud, knowing he was probably testing his boundaries with that question, but Legolas lifted a hind leg lazily and Bard chanced a ginger peek.

"Boy dragon. Definitely boy dragon. Got it."

"You know, you're not exactly what I imagined dragons to be like, your da, now that's classic dragon temper right there." Bard confessed when his face stopped burning with embarrassment. He passed a hand over the gleaming white scales and scratched behind the small protrusions on the dragon's head. Legolas purred and nosed at his cheek, butting against his hand like a cat seeking affection. Bard smiled. It reminded him of Sigrid when she'd been little, always seeking his approval and attention, her sweet smile and happy laughter lingering like the fragrance of flowers in the cottage.

Bard crossed his arms behind his head and peered up at the sky. The night was full of twinkling starlight, silver-bright and breathtakingly beautiful. A soft cool breeze stirred his hair and tickled the skin of his cheek. The dragon was warm against his back when he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Bard saved young Legolas before. And yes, Bard has unintentionally converted young Legolas to the "cooked food" religion. Thranduil will not be pleased.
> 
> Leave me some love, guys! I'd appreciate any input, really. :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard sat alone by the lake, the smooth undisturbed surface reflecting his haggard appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy and leave me some love! Comments are my fuel to writing faster!!!!!

Bard sat alone by the lake, the smooth undisturbed surface reflecting his haggard appearance. Annoyed, the blacksmith dipped a hand into the cold water, sending ripples along the surface and watching his own face break and distort. Legolas the young dragon, was nowhere to be found.

It had been four days since he'd arrived in the Lonely Mountains and Bard was sick of it, the constant worry for his children throbbing like a physical ache in the back of his mind. He almost wished the dragon had decided to eat him instead of abandoning him inside the vast caverns of the mountains to suffer.

How he wished to see them again, his beautiful daughters and brave son. Sigrid, fussing after him and bringing Bard three meals a day when he was busy in the forge; Bain, sturdy and reliable even at his young age, Bard knew for certain his son was going to grow up to be a brave warrior; and Tilda, little Tilda, his sweetheart, the youngest of his children, yet already so strong and beautiful like her mother. He closed his fist over the bone necklace they'd given him and blinked back tears.

Above him, the air stirred with a sudden breeze. Bard looked up, startled. The sight of the giant white dragon spreading its vast powerful wings and taking off into the open sky was still one of terrible beauty, even he had to admit. For one so large, it was strangely graceful as it circled above the mountains once, before taking to the east. Bard watched it go with one hand over his eyes to block out the harsh sunlight. Legolas did not join his father in flight, Bard noted with a small twinge of sympathy. He sat back on the sun-warm boulder and picked a handful of grass.

But what if Legolas could fly? What if Bard could fashion some sort of contraption to make up for the damaged wing? Maybe Legolas could be convinced to take Bard back to the village to visit his children. The older dragon would not even know they were gone. After all, it spent most of its time sleeping atop the mountain of gold. The worst outcome would be returning to the mountains after seeing his children, but that was already a better situation that the one Bard was currently in.

Mind made, he picked a stick up and started to draw the beginnings of a sketch into the dirt. Bard kept a constant eye on the clear sky, counting the hours it would take for the dragon to come back to the mountains.

It was nearly dusk when the beast returned, something hanging from its jaws as it swooped down into the darkness of another cavern. There were many caves and slopes in the Lonely Mountains, Bard knew. He'd given up trying to make a map of it in his mind when he'd run out of leaves to use as a trail, and besides, none of the other caves really held anything of use. He was better off in the clearing with the lake, over looking the dark forests of Mirkwood.

Bard spent the next two days playing with Legolas and using his sleeping hours to map out a trail down the side of the nearest mountain. He was grateful it was one of the lesser peaks, because Bard had nothing but a makeshift spear he fashioned out of a stick, woven grass and a sharp rock.

On the third day, the larger dragon headed out again. Bard watched it go with his heart pounding harshly in his ribs. His time was already running out. Grabbing his spear, the blacksmith heaved himself over the nearest boulder with a low grunt. Bard wedged the spear firmly into his belt and grabbed the next protrusion. He was halfway to the top when the handhold loosened, sending a shower of small rocks and dust stinging into his unprotected face. Bard cursed and struggled to stay rooted to the side of the cliff.

He glanced down and gulped. A drop from this high up could mean death, or worse, surviving the fall with a hell lot of broken bones. He shifted to the side for the nearest handhold as the rock underneath his left foot gave way.

The fall, when it came, felt strangely peaceful. Until he met a leathery something and both him and Legolas rolled to an ungainly stop in a pile of dust, stones and tangled limbs.

Bard's ribs ached, but nothing was broken. He disentangled their limbs and gingerly removed Legolas's thick tail from its place between his thighs. The blacksmith collapsed into the dirt and wiped at his face wearily. Legolas regarded him with a sad betrayed look, and when Bard tried to touch him, he bared his teeth and pulled back, unhappy.

"Wait, Legolas, let me explain!" He struggled upright and tackled the younger dragon with a flying leap. Bard's arms barely fit around the muscled scaly neck and Legolas puffed out a stinging hot stream close to Bard's ear, wings flapping in agitation.

"Let me explain, please. I wasn't trying to escape, I promise." Well, he was telling half of the truth anyway. Bard tipped the dragon's head back and scratched under his chin. "I wanted to help you."

Confusion colored the dragon's blue eyes and Bard tried to smile. Sigrid had always told him he was a bad liar, but this was half true, he did want to help Legolas. He just didn't add the bit where he wanted Legolas to help him in return.

"I think I can help you fly again. I just need something that's close to your wings, like the leather hide of an animal or something, and I need metal, preferably iron or maybe silver steel." Bard passed a hand over his face again, agitated. The words hadn't registered before, but speaking them out loud now, he found the task nearly impossible to accomplish. "So, I was thinking of going down to the woods and scouting for some materials." He finished lamely.

Legolas peered at him for a long time, so long that Bard was starting to feel nervous. Then, the young dragon licked his cheek in forgiveness and turned to study the cliff side while Bard tried in vain to wipe the spit off his face.

 

* * *

 

Bard's feet landed soundlessly on the mossy ground and he stared in amazement at Legolas. The small dragon couldn't fly, but he sure could climb and jump. They'd made it up the steep mountainside in record time and now both blacksmith and dragon were standing at the foot of the Lonely Mountains and peering into the dark depth of Mirkwood.

Beside him, Legolas made a high uncertain trilling sound and Bard reached up to pet him assuringly. He pulled out his rough spear and gripped it firmly. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, he turned to face Legolas with a grim smile.

"Let's do this," Bard said.

They moved through the trees cautiously, Legolas pressing close to Bard like a nervous child. Bard guessed the young dragon did not venture out of the mountains often.

The forest smelled of mud and rotting wood, with the hint of something foul underneath the natural scents of the forest. Bard held his spear tightly as they moved. He hadn't seen one single animal since they'd stepped into the forest. It sent an ugly chill down the blacksmith's back and he wished reverently for his bow. Legolas made a small distressed noise behind him and a twig snapped somewhere to their left. Bard whirled around and saw a huge pale elk, its ivory antlers curved like a crown of bone above its head. It looked up at them for a moment, eyes wise and ancient beyond its years, before turning and disappearing regally into a thicket.

"Come on," Bard gestured for Legolas to follow him as he took off in a small run after the animal. Chasing after something beat walking around in total confusion. Legolas was making a loud racket behind him, snapping branches with his weight and pale scaly body gleaming like a bright beacon. A small sprig of something caught his attention and Bard stopped to bend down and study the small plant, rubbing the leaves between thumb and forefinger before sniffing.

"Nightshade," he muttered and looked around. "Greyroot, Saint John's warts..."

The ground was teeming with herbs Bard had only seen in the garden of a healer. He followed the trail of blue flowers and looked up to see a dilapidated cottage, the fences around the original gardens overgrown with weeds and spilling out onto the ground. So that was where the herbs came from. Bard dared not think that a human had once inhabited these dark woods. The elk he'd been following stood patiently outside the cottage, its noble head held high. Bard tossed his makeshift spear to the side and approached it slowly.

"Who are you?" He asked softly, staring up into those intelligent golden brown eyes. "Why have you led me here?"

Instead of gifting him with an answer, the magnificent creature dipped its head and Bard felt the barest brush of its warm muzzle against his forehead. Then, without another backward glance, the giant elk turned and meandered away, leaving Bard standing silently with Legolas at his side.

With nothing else to do, Bard ducked into the cottage, telling Legolas to wait for him outside. It was old, he could tell. Everything had a layer of thick dust over it and Bard put his boot through quite a few loose floorboards along the way. He picked up a small wooden horse, the paint peeled and fading. A child had once lived here. Bard looked around and noticed a strange heavy four-pronged crossbow mounted on one wall, one single black arrow hanging underneath it. The rack next to it was nearly empty, except for a curved blade and a longbow without bowstrings. Bard frowned as he approached. The cottage's owner was starting to appear more a hunter than a healer by the minute.

The blade hummed when Bard drew it out of the simple scabbard. Untouched by time, the dark obsidian metal gleamed like it had only been crafted yesterday. He touched the edge of the strange metal and felt a warm throb of something pass through him. Bard drew in a deep breath and a drop of his own blood landed on the dark blade. Outside the cottage, Legolas made a high-pitched distressed sound. Fingers still stinging from the cut, Bard grabbed the blade and ran out into the clearing.

He nearly dropped the weapon at the sight.

Spiders with eyes as big as his fist and legs as thick as a man's torso were crawling out of the trees, their size making Legolas seem small in comparison. The young dragon was hissing and blowing thin jets of blue flames in warning, flapping his wings in an attempt to look bigger. Bard swallowed at the sight of wickedly long fangs.

The black blade vibrated softly in his grip, or maybe that was his own arm trembling from fear. He didn't know, but Bard lashed out when the nearest spider pounced, blade slicing through hard exoskeleton, soft meat and back out again. The spider's head rolled to a stop at the edge of the destroyed garden. Blinking in amazement, Bard flipped the blade in his hand and turned to face the next attacker. Behind him, Legolas flapped his big leathery wings and roared, a thicker jet of white-blue flames sending the spiders skittering back.

But there were too many. No matter how many Bard hacked to death, more black waves followed. Legolas was not doing any better, but with his impenetrable scales, all they were doing was annoy the young dragon. Thick webs shot out and Legolas roared in anger, struggling to keep his wings from getting caught.

Bard watched one of the largest spiders he had ever seen crawl atop the downed dragon, its poisonous fangs gleaming wetly in the dappled sunlight. He reacted without thinking, hurling the curved blade in his hand like a throwing knife. It sailed through the air and sank deep into the spider's head. The monstrous beast toppled sideways and Legolas struggled out of the thick webs, spreading his wings in relief.

Weaponless, Bard spun to face the spider that had crept behind him. It hissed and reared back triumphantly. The blacksmith saw his own pale reflection in the gleaming wet eyes of the monster, heard the sound of the young dragon's panicked whine and felt white-hot agony as the spider finally sank its fangs deep into the meat of his shoulder.

Bard cried out in pain and stumbled back, clutching his burning shoulder as his knees gave out. The sky above them darkened and he heard a familiar deafening roar. Bright blue flames engulfed Bard's vision and he fell into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been years since he walked the earth in this form, Thranduil mused, brushing elegant fingers over the rich gold red robes currently wrapped around his form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been constantly updating this!!! Because I had a few chapters written out in advance. I've used all of them up, so the next update will be a bit slow. No worries! 
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments!!! As a new Barduil fan, please don't hesitate to tell me if I've made any unforgivable mistakes, or plot suggestions, or anything!!! I love replying to every comment!!! And comments make me write faster! 
> 
> Thank you so much!!!! Enjoy and leave me some love!!!!

It had been years since he walked the earth in this form, Thranduil mused, brushing elegant fingers over the rich gold red robes currently wrapped around his form. Things had not changed. A few decades were nothing to a dragon, but-

"Ada, _please_ , you have to save him!" Legolas ran to him the moment he saw Thranduil, his son's young face pale and tense. Legolas had not chosen to dress himself properly in the fine layers of fabric before rushing to the dying human's side. His chest was bare and the laces on his breeches only loosely knotted. Thranduil raised an elegant hand to silence the young dragon and turned his icy blue gaze onto the man writhing on the bed.

Brow dotted with sweat and sun-tanned skin red from fever, the blacksmith from Laketown did not make a pretty picture in Thranduil's bed. Thranduil clicked his tongue softly and pressed one pale hand lightly over the man's tense brow. His flesh felt hot to the touch. Thranduil tugged the clasps of his patchy tunic open to gauge the extent of the damage. The woodland spider's fangs had sliced clean through the fabric, into the human's shoulder and chest. The skin around the wound was a deep purplish black, blood dripping sluggishly from the opening.

"I'm afraid he has no more than a few hours, my son." Thranduil drew his hand back and regarded his son's stricken expression coolly.

"You have to, Ada. I owe _my life_ to him!" Legolas pointed out stubbornly, hands falling to rest on his hips, his entire posture screaming defiance. "He rescued me after the hunters shot me down with their arrows, carried me to a cave, gave me his rations even though it was winter. Ada, you know how much he needed the food for his own family. If he hadn't helped me, I would not be here-"

Thranduil snorted lightly and took a seat in one of the beautiful chairs in his chambers. He poured himself a cup of wine. "He was a mere boy of _twelve_ , Legolas. The man he has grown into may not be as noble or innocent."

"He wanted to help me fly again," the quiet words made Thranduil look up sharply, wine forgotten.

_"What?"_

Legolas rubbed at his scarred arm and glared defiantly at his father. "He said he wanted to craft something to make up for my damaged wing. We were out scavenging for materials when we chanced upon your old friend, that _crazy old elk_."

"Do not call him crazy, Legolas. You know not of his wisdom." Thranduil said disapprovingly.

"Well, the senile old thing nearly kissed Bard after he led us to Girion's old shack." Legolas crossed his arms and pouted.

"What is this nonsense you speak of?" Thranduil asked sharply.

"Bard, his name is Bard, the blacksmith from Laketown. He has two daughters and one son-" Legolas started to recite angrily, but Thranduil merely waved the boy aside. He stood and walked back to the bed, sat down gracefully and scrutinized the unconscious man.

"Ada, what are you doing?" Legolas peered down at him curiously.

"He is past saving, Legolas." Thranduil said simply. He was turning to rise when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Gwen, don't leave me, please..." The man gasped, fingers tight and burning like iron brands against Thranduil's cool skin. His hazel eyes were glazed and fever-bright, gazing unseeingly up at Thranduil. He made a soft hurt noise when Thranduil pulled his hand away harshly, but the man grabbed blindly onto his sleeve instead, still rasping that name over and over again.

"Ada, there has to be a way, I can't let him die," Legolas latched onto Thranduil's other sleeve and the older dragon fought not to roll his eyes at his son's dramatics.

"Our blood can counteract all poisons, right? Ada, I will give him my bloo-" Legolas whirled around in blind search of a blade. That was the last straw.

Shoving the clinging man back into his silken sheets, he grabbed his son's thick golden braid and tugged. _Hard_. Legolas stumbled back with a cry of surprise.

_"Ada!"_

"If you want him to live, go and get me the proper herbs and mix them. Get fresh linen and hot water as well." Thranduil commanded. Legolas paused to stare at his father in stunned disbelief. Thranduil's lips curled slightly in disdain, "and _put on a_ _shirt_ before you come back."

His son gave a grateful smile, pulled a startled Thranduil into a tight hug before stumbling to comply, loud footsteps clattering up the stone steps. Now alone with Bard, Thranduil turned and regarded him curiously. He touched the man's roughen cheeks, traced the faint laugh lines around his eyes and lips with light fingers. Thranduil supposed Bard was handsome for a human, but he didn't have much experience dealing with the opinions of men, or women for that matter. Strange creatures they were, highly emotional, fiercely loyal to a fault and so insignificant, their lives so short...

"Gwen, you must forgive me, I have not been a good father to our children..." Delirious from fever and the toxins in his body, the blacksmith clutched his arm as he blabbered about strange things, calling Thranduil someone named "Gwen". He had a hunch it was the man's wife's name.

Stifling an annoyed huff, Thranduil stood, took one of the empty goblets on the table and ran the sharp edge of the blade down the line of his left palm. He watched the bright ruby droplets splash into the silver goblet with barely suppressed impatience. Legolas's human was calling out for his wife again.

When he had enough blood, Thranduil bound the cut with a soft linen cloth and returned to the bed. He pulled the blacksmith upright and attempted to tip the contents of the cup down his parched throat. Bard choked and spluttered, nearly knocking the goblet from Thranduil's fingers. Thranduil wiped moisture from the man's lips and eased him back down.

"Forgive me, Gwen...please..." Bard was still stubbornly asking for forgiveness. Thranduil pressed a hand over his sweaty brow to still the man's useless writhing and cupped his flushed cheek as he leaned in close.

"I forgive you, now be still," Thranduil whispered, and the blacksmith sagged in relief.

"I'm so sorry, Gwen..." He rasped, one weak hand reaching up to touch a strand of Thranduil's silver blond hair.

"I know," Thranduil humored him distractedly.

He took a sip from the goblet and leaned down to press his lips to Bard's, gently easing the man's cracked lips open. He fed Bard his blood this way, until the man was no longer shivering from the effects of the spider poison. The blacksmith was pliant in his arms, one hand tangled in the dragon's white blond hair as his tongue traced eagerly along the inner walls of Thranduil's mouth for any residues. Thranduil knew how addictive dragon blood was, like liquid fire, sweet and burning as it soothed away the pain and poison. Bard made a soft disappointed whine when Thranduil broke contact and tried to chase his lips blindly, nosing against Thranduil's neck like a young dragonling.

Legolas found them tangled together like this when he returned, his face smeared with dirt and flushed from exertion, the bowl of herbs clutched tightly to his chest.

"Ada?" He asked, eyeing them curiously. Thranduil gently eased the man back onto the bed and held out a steady hand to his son.

"Legolas, bring me some fresh linen."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard was almost absolutely certain he'd been rescued by an elf, one of those ethereal creatures who walked in starlight and danced beneath the moon. Or maybe it was a princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and amazing feedback!!! Seriously the world needs more Barduil. My writing's crappy and I don't have a beta, so...sorry about that. I made up some location names and stuff. No beta...very sad. 
> 
> Bard mistakes Thranduil for a woman. Poor guy's going to have one hell of a shock when he finds out the truth. XD

Bard was almost absolutely certain he'd been rescued by an _elf_ , one of those ethereal creatures who walked in starlight and danced beneath the moon. He'd never met one before, but Mother had told him stories. Or maybe it was a _princess_ , judging by the quality of the fine colorful silks underneath him. Maybe the dragon had taken her as well some time ago.

After a few seconds of struggle, he managed to sit upright. Bard winced and pulled at the clean white shirt he'd been dressed in and peered down at the neat bandages resting upon his injured shoulder. During the time he'd been unconscious, someone had cleaned the spider bite, dressed him in fine clothes and shaved his face as well.

Pain from the spider's poison and the huge white dragon coming to their rescue, those bits he remembered, but afterward, it was all just a jumble of delirious pain, heat and flashes of gold and blue. He may have had a fantasy about his dead wife, but Bard couldn't remember clearly. And there was the hazy bit about the elf/princess, her smooth cool hands on his burning cheeks, whispering in his ear that she was not his beautiful Gwen. And indeed she wasn't. Gwen had been lovely with her fine flaxen hair and pale complexion, but the woman that had held him last night was otherworldly in her beauty. She seemed to glow, and the feel of her white-blond hair in his fingers was soft as silk when she leaned down to kiss him.

_Kiss him?_

Bard's brain screeched to a halt. No no no, he must have imagined that part as well. There was no way that... The blacksmith touched his lips wearily, as if afraid he might find any lingering traces of their kiss. His mind was a jumbled mess, and even if he had sullied a princess by accident, there was nothing he could do now, so Bard gave up trying to sort through the flashes of memories and looked around the room he was in.

It was a nice chamber, although he could tell it was still part of the mountain. There was a giant silken bed, upon which he was currently reclining, an elegant dressing table filled with odd shiny trinkets and matching chairs, a small six-legged table with two silver goblets and a pitcher of wine and an assortment of other finely-crafted furniture. The chamber was quite large and Bard took a few minutes to take everything in. There was a set of very fine clothes neatly folded by the foot of the bed, a pair of matching boots that looked to be new, and, Bard blinked in surprise, the strange curved black blade as well, resting innocently above the clothes. She was quite considerate, his savior. Although he failed to understand how she could have so readily produced so many articles of clothing for a man.

It took Bard another few moments to struggle out of the mountain of small fancy pillows strewn on the bed, most of them embroidered with fine golden thread and small jewels and beads of every conceivable color. The princess must have been a master seamstress or more likely, bored to death trapped in a cave with a dragon that had severe anger problems. He felt a twinge of sympathy as he finally stood and walked over to the pile of clothes. His ratty old coat was nowhere to be found, something Bard had expected, but still, that old brown coat had seen him through many a harsh winters: Bain used to bundle himself in his Da's coat and pretend to be an adult, Sigrid had patched every hole with her neat dainty stitches, and Tilda used to slip little shiny rocks and wild flowers into his pocket when he took her out on walks. Those memories could not be replaced by a fine tunic. Bard chose to forgo the tunic as he secured the blade at his hip and pushed past the set of heavy wooden doors. There were three sets of wide stone steps leading in three separate directions.

He took the ones curving up and chanced upon open sky when he pushed through another set of double doors. Wind whipped at Bard's hair and the blacksmith ducked down to avoid getting blown over. Squinting though watery eyes, he looked down upon the gentle rise of the Lonely Mountains below him. _Widow's Fang_ , that was the highest peak in the mountains. Bard had a hunch that was where he was currently situated. But before he could think of what to do next, a delighted roar sounded behind him, and Bard whirled around to see Legolas, unharmed and healthy, rounding the corner of the tunnel, wings flapping and billowing small streams of fire in his excitement. Bard felt a jolt of pain when the young dragon collided with him, but he wrapped his arms around Legolas's neck anyway, scratching under his chin and petting along his scaly neck.

"Hello, Legolas," he smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of the young dragon's head, as Bard often did with his beloved horses. Legolas purred happily and rubbed his face against Bard's shaven cheek.

"Now, why don't we find my lovely rescuer and give her my thanks?" he asked.

Bard didn't notice the young dragon's confused pause as he wandered down the stone path.

 

* * *

 

So, he'd been rescued by a beautiful princess who was a master seamstress, had an abundance of men's clothes, and... _drank like a sailor?_

Bard stared in disbelief at the shelves and shelves of wine barrels in the room, the door clattering shut behind him. The wine cellar was huge, the walls holding endless barrels, bottles, flasks of liquor known to man, maybe more than man. Bard eyed a glowing bottle of red lava-like liquid warily and took a step back, bumping into Legolas as the young dragon crawled past him and to Bard's amazement, dunked his whole head into a barrel of something dark.

Bard left the dragon in the cellar and did a sweep of the place. It was larger than he'd initially anticipated, one corridor leading to two more, two branching into four and so on. There was what looked to be a kitchen, a huge cavern with a luminescent pool that seemed to serve as a bath and he'd even chanced upon another room much like the first, a bed, some tables and chairs. There were also books strewn about, along with toys and odd things.

The pain from his wound was coming back, so Bard grabbed a bit of bread and cheese, a cup and some dried meat for Legolas before finding his way back to the wine cellar. They divided the food between themselves and Bard had a bit to drink, the wine hot and burning as it slid down his throat. The sensation reminded him of something, but his addled memory failed to cooperate.

Bard was stumbling his way back to the first chamber, mind buzzing pleasantly from the alcohol, when it hit him. It wasn't appropriate for him to intrude upon a lady's sleeping quarters now that he was conscious. After a moment's consideration, Bard seated himself on the steps leading to the chamber. He'd wait for her to come back, thank her and take his leave. Legolas could get him back to the clearing, Bard was sure of it.

What he didn't expect was to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

There were _hands_ on his skin, cool smooth hands, taking away his soiled bandages and soothing the pain with something cold. Bard blinked slowly, trying to see past the drunken haze. That was odd. He'd only had one cup of wine...

"What..." He tried to speak when the hands began to unfasten his breeches, the words coming out a garbled mess. Someone laughed softly next to his ear, the sound melodic and beautiful. He saw bright blue eyes, white-gold hair...

 _"Sleep,"_ the voice, somehow too deep for a woman, rumbled against his ear. Something brushed his cheek and soft fingers petted through Bard's wild messy hair. The blacksmith tried to protest, but the cool hands on his skin felt so heavenly he could hardly open his eyes, let alone pull away. Utterly exhausted and drunk, he fell asleep to the scent of fire and jasmine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What part of me looks like a woman to you?" Ada's deep commanding tones echoed through the cave as he batted away the man's hand and tipped Bard's chin up with one long finger.
> 
> The hair, the fancy little pillows Ada secretly loved, his long flowing robes etc. Legolas could think of quite a few reasons to mistake his Ada for his Nana, but the young dragon wisely kept his mouth shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter in Legolas's POV. He's so cute and fun. 
> 
> Enjoy and leave me some love!

Legolas was confused.

He didn't get confused often these days, after four hundred years of existence, he'd gathered sufficient knowledge to work out most things by himself. But this...

Ever since Ada had intervened to save them, he'd been waltzing around in his human form more and more frequently. Legolas hadn't seen his father make the change in over fifty years, but he was doing so every day now, appearing out of nowhere and dressed in his elaborate layers of vibrant silks. Small wonder Bard had mistaken him for a princess in the first place.

Bard's wounds were healing and with the poison diluted, Legolas had expected things to go back to the way they were: Ada snoozing on his mountain of treasures and Legolas playing with his favorite human.

But Thranduil had stayed.

Legolas had almost drifted off to sleep on the stone steps as well, curled around Bard, when Thranduil appeared, long blond mane flowing majestically behind him. Legolas peered up, startled, but his Ada had only bent down to study them, amusement flashing briefly in his cold blue eyes before he pressed one slender finger over Legolas's muzzle and lifted a sleeping Bard into his arms. Legolas watched curiously as his father disappear into his chambers with the blacksmith cradled against his chest. He took that as a sign of permission from Thranduil for Bard to sleep on the bed instead of the ground. Or at least that was what Legolas thought was going on. Ada didn't allow him into his chambers in dragon form and Legolas didn't want to shift to his other one because he disliked wearing pants, so he curled up outside to wait.

Legolas woke to the sound of a muffled shout from within his father's chambers and lifted his head to listen intently. Ada said something in his low smooth voice. There was more frantic shuffling and something heavy dropped to the floor with a loud thump followed by a man's pained groan. A second later, Bard flew out of Thranduil's room, his breeches barely hanging off of his narrow hips, his hair a wild halo around his face and bare chest heaving with startled breaths. He tripped over Legolas's tail and landed firmly on his ass. The heavy oaken doors parted to reveal Thranduil, already dressed in a simple elegant shirt and fitting trousers over gleaming leather boots.

"I apologize for my rudeness, I do not remember ending up in your bed, my lady!" Bard, who had politely covered his eyes with one palm, stood awkwardly in one corner, a blotchy red flush crawling from his neck down to his bandaged chest.

Legolas raised his head and regarded them with interest. Ada hadn't spoken a single word, but Legolas could tell he was more amused than angry. Thranduil stepped gracefully over Legolas's tail and approached the flustered blacksmith.

"What part of me looks like a woman to you?" Ada's deep commanding tones echoed through the cave as he batted away the man's hand and tipped Bard's chin up with one long finger.

 _The hair, the fancy little pillows Ada secretly loved, his long flowing robes etc_. Legolas could think of quite a few reasons to mistake his Ada for his Nana, but the young dragon wisely kept his mouth shut.

Bard was not so wise. The blacksmith scanned Thranduil's beautiful face with wide eyes, flickering down to his flat toned chest and the obvious bulge in his trousers before coming back up to fix on the taller man's face. Bard's hand made an involuntary little flutter.

Ada's left eye twitched.

"You just gestured to _all of me_ ," he said flatly.

Bard opened his mouth, struggled soundlessly and shut it again.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Bard finally squeezed out, obviously still trying to get over the shock of finding out the lovely princess was apparently a he, with broader shoulders and standing half a head taller than him.

"You may call me Thranduil," Ada said after a moment's pause, his expression melting back to its usual haughty/disdainful mode.

"I am Bard of Laketown," he returned politely. "Were you captured by the dragon as well, my lord?" Bard was desperately trying to change the subject. He looked a bit uncomfortable, with Ada pressing so close to his half-naked form. Legolas remembered Girion used to tell him that Men valued their personal space, bubble, whatever. No doubt Ada had burst Bard's bubble already.

"No, I live here," Thranduil replied calmly, blue eyes still scrutinizing the blacksmith's face with an intrigued frown. He reached out a hand and rubbed at the rough stubble on Bard's cheek.

"Why do the coarse hairs on your face grow so fast?" He asked with barely veiled annoyance.

"Why do you live ffffhhheerreee?" Ada had stuck a thumb into the man's mouth, prying his lips open and examining Bard's teeth.

Thranduil drew back with a distracted frown, "I have always lived here," he said simply.

"Oh," Bard said. There was an awkward pause while Ada stared at Bard's chest with interest, poking at his hard abdominal muscles and rubbing at the sun-tanned skin with his thumb. Bard caught his hand gently in his own and Thranduil looked up with narrowed eyes, obviously displeased at being interrupted.

"As much as I'd like to participate in your discovery of another human being's body, it's getting cold for me," Bard said kindly, amusement twinkling in his hazel eyes. Thranduil drew back with a small huff of annoyance. Legolas didn't understand what his father's sudden fascination was. Thranduil was familiar with the human physique, and he'd never touched Girion that way before.

"You must be lonely up here all by yourself, my lord Thranduil," Bard called from Thranduil's chambers as he dressed himself properly. Legolas was left in an awkward staring match with his Ada. Thranduil gestured for his son to lean close and Legolas bent his head curiously.

"Do not tell him who I am, Legolas," he whispered.

"Ah, you must be familiar with Legolas then," Bard said when he came out to find the two of them pressed together. The blacksmith smiled and rubbed a happy Legolas under his chin when the young dragon nuzzled against him. Ada's disdainful expression turned into a displeased frown.

"Legolas is a good dragon, but I have to admit, it's nice to have a fellow man to talk to, my lord Thranduil," Bard confessed with a warm smile when he walked up to the older dragon.

"Call me Thranduil," His father insisted regally as he motioned toward the stairs. Even Girion hadn't been allowed to call his Ada only by name. Legolas was really confused now.

"Only if you call me Bard in return," Bard replied and allowed the taller blond man to lead him toward the kitchens. "I am intrigued to hear the tale of how you came to be here."

"Of course," Ada said, then to Legolas's surprise, he fixed his attention onto his son.

"Legolas, stay." His father ordered.

The young dragon stumbled to a halt as he watched his father and Bard disappear around a corner, leaving him all alone in the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil isn't being a bad father by telling Leggy to stay, he's just worried Leggy might give the game away before he gets a chance to spin his tales first. Obviously, he's gonna lie his face off. XD poor Bard bb.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two things soon became apparent to Bard.
> 
> One, Thranduil had no notion whatsoever of personal space, and two, he wasn't like any other man Bard had ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely loved every comment and kudos! Thank you everyone! *hands out baby dragon legolas plushies*
> 
> PS: There will be other species introduced soon. As well as hobbits and dwarves. 
> 
> Leave me some love, guys!

Two things soon became apparent to Bard.

One, Thranduil had no notion whatsoever of personal space, and two, he wasn't like any other man Bard had ever met.

"What is this knob for?" The blond man leaned over Bard's shoulder and pointed to a smudge of charcoal on the parchment Bard had spread out on the vast table in the dining hall. A long silky strand of white-gold hair brushed tantalizingly along Bard's collar and the blacksmith could feel the solid warmth of Thranduil's chest through the thin material of his shirt. He fought down an involuntary shiver and the blush rushing to his cheeks before following the direction of Thranduil's long elegant finger.

"That is a substitute for a clasp, something to keep the wing attached, right here," Bard slid out of the small space between Thranduil and the table with an internally relieved sigh and gestured for Legolas to spread both wings. The young dragon complied and Bard pointed to the spot where he would attach the series of clasps and buckles. He smiled at the blond man, "thank you for providing the parchments and pencils, by the way."

"This...contraption...will help Legolas fly?" Thranduil asked slowly over a cup of wine. The blacksmith understood why the cellars were stocked to the ceiling with bottles of wine now. He hadn't seen a drop of water pass Thranduil's lips yet.

"In theory, yes. But we haven't had the chance to test it out yet," Bard replied honestly, wiping a hurried hand over his flushed cheeks and walking back to the parchment. He refused Thranduil's offer of refreshments and bent down over the sketches again.

"Why are you doing this?" The blond man asked, one smooth hand curling around Bard's wrist and stopping him in the process of adding another line to the paper. Bard looked up into cool assessing eyes.

"Because Legolas deserves to be able to fly like every other dragon," He finally said, hoping Thranduil would accept it as an adequate answer. After a long pause, the blond man moved aside to pour himself another cup of wine.

Bard breathed a quiet sigh of relief and went back to his blueprint. Thranduil had provided all the supplies Bard had asked for, even going so far as to show him the small forge deep within the mountains. Bard was still a bit unclear about the relationship between the large white dragon and Thranduil, but they were still basically strangers to each other and Bard found it rude to pry.

Despite the mysterious past of the beautiful stranger, Bard found himself enjoying Thranduil’s company. Although he liked Legolas, it was nice to have someone who actually talked back when Bard spoke to him. Thranduil listened with genuine interest when Bard explained the simple concepts of his design and accompanied him in his search for the appropriate scraps of metal Bard needed to make the bolts and buckles. Thranduil left him to his own devices around noon and the blacksmith spent the rest of the day hunting down various supplies required for his contraption and making a messy pile by the fireplace in the huge dining hall.

 

* * *

 

Bard was in the middle of telling Legolas about the time his son Bain and Aragorn tricked Alfrid into a dress during an ogre attack in Laketown (because according to the boys, “ogres don’t hurt women”), when Thranduil joined them on their rocky perch, still impeccably dressed in his fine garments. Bard smiled in greeting and went on petting a purring Legolas.

“Must be lonely to live here all by yourself,” Bard remarked, accepting a cup of wine from the blond man and looking up into the sky with a sigh. Stars twinkled like fine flecks of diamond in the inky canvass of the night sky and a gentle breeze lifted long strands of Thranduil’s silken hair. Bard caught the familiar smell of his exotic scent, something fiery and sweet.

“I suppose it is,” Thranduil answered carefully after a long pause. They sat there for a while without speaking. Legolas gave off heat like a small furnace and Thranduil’s body heat seeped through his many layer, creating a gentle warmth on Bard’s right.

“You have chosen not to wear the tunic I have given you, why?” Thranduil asked when Bard shivered slightly at a cool gust of mountain wind.

“My apologies,” Bard said, “it slipped my mind to ask you before, but I seem to have misplaced my own coat after you bound my wounds.”

“I have provided you with more than enough garments, why linger on an old piece of fabric?” Thranduil asked, sounding surprised at the blacksmith’s words.

Bard ducked his head with an embarrassed smile, “call me a sentimental fool, but I much prefer that old coat over the finest silks in the land. My daughter patched every tear with her own hands. Besides, my lowly status is not befitting of your fine clothes, my lord.”

The polite words stirred Thranduil into action, leaning over to tip the blacksmith’s chin up and stare deep into Bard’s startled eyes. He seemed to enjoy the gesture quite a lot, Bard noticed with a twinge of amused annoyance, because Thranduil was at that perfect height where Bard was forced to glance up to meet his smoldering blue gaze.

“You are very different for your kin, Bard of Laketown... I see no greed in you...” Thranduil murmured softly, a hint of grudging approval in his tones.

They were sitting too close together for two grown men and Thranduil’s exotic scent combined with the wine was making Bard feel dizzy and light-headed. His heart pounded harshly against his ribs.

 _“Thranduil...”_ Bard struggled to fight past the delirious haze that had settled over his eyes. He felt drunk and pleasantly warm, something tingling blossoming from deep within his chest. Normal men did not stare into each others eyes and experience the sensation of _drowning_.

 _“Yes...”_ Thranduil’s cool sweet breath ghosted over his mouth and Bard’s lips parted of their own accord. The blond man leaned forward and Bard’s eyes fluttered shut...

Legolas chose that unfortunate moment to sneeze, a small puff of blue flames bursting from his nostrils and conveniently lighting the end of Thranduil’s robes on fire. Bard broke from his trance with a startled shout and grabbed the pitcher of fruit wine Thranduil had set down on the rock beside him and dumped the contents over the flames. The small fire went out with a loud hiss of smoke and burnt silks. Legolas cringed back with a horrified whimper and hurriedly dropped one wing over his snout when Thranduil slowly turned his head to stare at the young dragon. Thranduil’s elegant robes were smoking gently at the edges, the wet spot spreading rapidly as the material soaking up the remaining liquid.

Bard couldn’t help it. He took one look at the cowering baby dragon and laughed until his belly ached.

 

* * *

 

When Bard woke the next morning, he found his old coat cleaned and folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Neat evenly-spaced stitches in silver thread had closed most of the smaller tears when he gently unfolded the garment. There was an elaborate pattern of golden vines and leaves sewn into the left breast to cleverly conceal the huge gaping tear from the spider’s fang. Bard’s breath caught at the sight of the exquisite needlework. He ran a finger over the small golden dragon brooch Thranduil had sewn onto his collar and chuckled at the man’s unexpected sense of humor. Flushing guiltily, Bard lifted the coat up to his face and breathed in the familiar scent of fire and ozone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Leggy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's alright, Legolas!" Bard shouted up at the young dragon, his voice tinny and lost in the wind. Thranduil stood next to him in a whole different set of elegant silk robes, dark grey edged with silver this time, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry for the long wait and short chap, guys. Last week was crazy for me. I'm in a hurry. Gotta go. Enjoy! XD

"It's alright, Legolas!" Bard shouted up at the young dragon, his voice tinny and lost in the wind. Thranduil stood next to him in a whole different set of elegant silk robes, dark grey edged with silver this time, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. Legolas peered over the edge of the small cliff and let out a high-pitched whined before ducking back with Bard's invention still strapped to his left wing.

"Legolas, it's perfectly fine! You've jumped higher cliffs before, I know you can do it. Just spread your wings and catch the current!" Bard continued to holler encouragements up at the empty peak. A long scaly tail flicked gently to and fro. Legolas was crawling back to the edge again. Big intelligent blue eyes peered down at the two men standing in the grassy clearing.

"Don't worry! We will catch you if you fall!" Bard cupped hands over his mouth and shouted. Thranduil turned his head and raised his eyebrows apprehensively at the blacksmith before taking a small subtle step away from him. Bard shot him a look of mocking betrayal and the blond man sighed long-sufferingly before opening his mouth.

"Legolas, jump," Thranduil's low smooth voice commanded. To Bard's surprise, the little dragon immediately did just that.

They didn't have the chance to step aside before Legolas crashed upon them, wings outstretched and screeching in distress as the three of them rolled into a tangled heap of flailing limbs.

"-try, try catching a, a current next time..." Bard gasped, utterly winded from the crushing weight of the small dragon. Legolas's wing was draped over his and Thranduil's heads and Bard was crushing the blond man to the grass, thighs spread around Thranduil's narrow hips. He turned and saw Thranduil's expressionless face. The blond man slowly raised one of his dark impressive eyebrows. Bard's snort of amusement soon turned into full blown laughter. Legolas whipped his head around at the noise and started slathering Bard's face with enthusiastic licks. The blacksmith was gasping for breath from laughing so hard when Thranduil gently cupped his cheek and forced his eyes to look up. He shifted beneath Bard, one slim thigh coming to rest tactfully against Bard's groin. The sudden friction stole what little breath he had left and Bard was suddenly painfully aware just how close they were. Thranduil's lips parted and Bard's traitorous heart leapt to his throat.

"I must excuse myself," Thranduil murmured softly and pulled away.

Legolas made a small confused noise when the blond man elegantly rose to his feet and departed for the caves. Bard slumped down to sit next to Legolas, heart still humming like a bird against his ribs. He traced a golden vine on the edge of his tunic sleeve and shook his head. Thranduil was still technically a _stranger_ to him, a fellow captive of the dragon perhaps, but the strange attraction Bard felt was beyond weird. He loved his beautiful wife, even if she had long passed away. This was nothing.

"Don't worry, I'll make some adjustments and we'll try again tomorrow." Bard patted Legolas's scaly neck with a distracted palm. The young dragon butted his hand affectionately. Bard glanced in the direction Thranduil had disappeared in and sighed inwardly.

_What was wrong with him?_

 

* * *

 

"I have not-"

Bard paused on his way past one of the many heavy wooden doors inside the caves under the Lonely Mountains. He was on his way to the dining hall when Thranduil spoke behind the door, his voice laced with anger and frustration. There was a soft musical laugh and Bard almost stumbled in shock when a light feminine voice spoke back.

"You cannot ignore your own heart, My Lord, surely not now that you've finally-"

"My heart is the same as before." Thranduil interrupted coldly and before Bard could step back, the doors burst open and the blond man stormed out. Bard caught sight of a flash of fiery red hair before the doors swung shut again.

"You must forgive me, Thranduil. I wasn't eavesdropping." Bard stammered, nearly dropping the modified wing in his arms as he backed up, his face burning with mortification. "I did not mean to overhear you talking to...there are others in the mountain?"

Thranduil had glided over to the panicked blacksmith during his mindless babbling, looming over Bard like a giant silken bat. Bard's mind went blank and he shut his mouth with a dry click.

"How was the rest of Legolas's flight test?" Thranduil asked, his cool minty breath washing over Bard's cheek. Gentle fingers rubbed at the smudge of dirt on Bard's chin. Bard concentrated on the spot behind Thranduil's left shoulder and fought down an involuntary shudder.

"Uh, I still need to change some things before we try again." He swallowed hard and tried to move away from the small confined space between the wall and Thranduil.

"Your guest." He reminded desperately.

"I have no guest. You're imagining things." Thranduil dismissed calmly. Bard frowned. That was impossible. He'd heard Thranduil talking to a woman.

"But, you-" he gestured to the doors soundlessly. Thranduil followed the direction of Bard's hands. Bard watched as the blond man walked back to the closed doors and pushed them open to reveal-

Nothing.

Bard blinked, scarcely believing his eyes. The red-haired woman he thought he'd glimpsed was nowhere to be seen.

"Like I said, there is no one else here, Bard." Thranduil repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel has MAGIC. Poor gal. Poor Bard.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am going to regret this,” the short man muttered darkly and ran a hand through his light brown curls. Bard cocked his head quizzically. The man took a deep breath and opened his mouth.
> 
> "My name is Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins. I am a Hobbit," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep forgetting to say this, but dragon Thranduil's size is a bit smaller than Smaug (in the movies). And Legolas is about twice as long as Bard is tall. (does that make sense?) 
> 
> Enjoy and leave me a comment! I love every single one!!!

Bard was in a foul mood.

Convinced he had not hallucinated seeing the redheaded woman with Thranduil, he'd spent the rest of the afternoon trying to seek out the other mysterious occupants of the mountain. There were more bedrooms and dining halls than necessary for just one man, so there was bound to be others living with Thranduil. Where on earth would the man get all that food from?

But in the end, Bard's search was fruitless. He'd gone back the way he came, tired, irritated and hungry. After consuming three curiously fresh slices of bread and some dried meat, he had a bit to drink from Thranduil's stock. Everything became a bit hazy after that and Bard had trouble remembering exactly what he'd done to end up in the situation he was in right now.

The blacksmith swallowed and tried vainly to quell the mortification rising in his chest. There was _dried semen_ on his thighs. He'd soiled his underclothes like a young pubescent lad, _and for what reason?_ The remnants of an erotic dream, perhaps? He couldn't remember how he'd ended up in his bed in the first place. The white substance on his inner thigh had dried into a crusty tacky mess and Bard made a disgusted face as he quickly stripped out of his clothes and bunched them into a ball. He set them on the bed and wriggled into a fresh pair of breeches. After a brief internal struggle, Bard decided to brave the corridor outside his doors and get rid of the evidence.

To his immense relief, Thranduil was no where to be found. After making sure the corridor was indeed empty, Bard bundled his dirty garments under one arm and hurtled down the stairs. Thranduil had told him to simply drop his dirty clothes down a certain chute and a few days later, they would be cleaned and returned to his room. Bard had suspected some form of magic was involved, but after witnessing the appearance of the mysterious redhead, he wasn't so convinced anymore. And besides, there was no way the blacksmith was going to drop his clothes down the chute with the "stains" on them.

The chute had to lead somewhere, so the blacksmith followed the curved stairs downward. He'd never taken that particular path before. The stairs led down deeper and deeper into the mountains, because the air seems considerably damper now and Bard could smell the hint of wet mud. He had a slight hunch that there was water down here somewhere, an underground river perhaps. The blacksmith soon heard the sound of trickling water. Bard took another left turn and saw the clear stream. The vast underground caverns inside the Lonely Mountains had merged into one huge opening, but to Bard's surprise, the space was quite well-lit and there was soft green grass underneath his boots.

Despite the strong urge to explore the new land, Bard immediately went to the stream and dipped his hand into the cool clear water. He took a curious sip of the moisture in his palm. It was surprisingly fresh and clean. Bard chose a spot downstream and soaked his clothes into the water, finally letting his heart settle as he washed away the evidence of his guilt.

He was scrubbing furiously at the fabric when something bumped gently into his backside. The blacksmith whirled around in time to catch sight of rustling in a nearby bush. He blinked in surprise when he saw the small leather ball that had rolled to a gentle stop against his ankle. It was a child's toy, something a five year old like Tilda would enjoy. Bard narrowed his eyes at the quaking foliage before casually placing the ball right in the middle of him and the source of the disturbance. Then he made a big show of turning back to his washings. If it was indeed a child he chanced up, then it would not take long for him or her to come out. The blacksmith counted to five silently in his head and whirled around.

The extremely small dark-haired blue-eyed child froze in the middle of reaching for the brown ball with one pale chubby hand. He wore tiny suspenders over small sensible brown trousers and stood bare-foot. Bard had never seen such a small child before. His pale face seemed to only consist of enormous watery blue eyes and thick black lashes.

With a small squeak of fear, the child reared back and scuttled off into the bushes again, leaving his forlorn ball behind. Bard felt a rising excitement take over him. He knew he hadn't hallucinated there being other inhabitants of the mountain. The only questions remaining were why Thranduil had lied to him and who the other inhabitants of the mountain were.

Mind made, Bard grabbed his clean clothes and palmed the small leather ball. He needed a few more things for his plan.

 

* * *

 

The next day found Bard sitting in the grass by the stream again. This time, he paid special attention to his surroundings as he laid out the things he had brought with him.

When Sigrid was just a small babe, she had loved fireworks, or anything that gave off heat and glowed in the dark. Being poor meant that on holidays, they could not afford such expensive things like fireworks, so to his wife's amusement, Bard had learned how to make them himself by pouring certain powders and small rocks in tubes and creating sparklers by coating narrow steel wires with chemical substances that lit up and gave off multicolored flames. Gwen had swept Bard into a grateful kiss when Sigrid ran off with the other kids in the village, her own sparklers clutched happily in her small fists. Tilda was the only child who hadn’t played with his homemade fireworks, because Bard stopped making them when his wife died.

Thranduil's stock held almost everything he needed and Bard was in the middle of making the third sparkler when he heard a familiar rustle. Smiling to himself, the blacksmith pulled out the leather ball from his coat and set it down next to himself. He also laid out a few brightly colored sweets he'd nicked from Thranduil's cupboards. Then, Bard made the grand gesture of lighting one of the thin sparklers. From somewhere to his left, he heard a small gasp of awe as multicolored sparks flew from one end of the stick.

Children and their insatiable curiosity, he thought with a wry smile.

"I can make more if you want," Bard looked toward the shaking bushes. A pair of giant blue eyes blinked back at him. Bard's lips crooked upward as he held up the small brown ball and gently rolled it toward the small child. He ate a piece of the candy and waited patiently for the child to wiggle out of his hiding spot. There was a pregnant pause before the small child finally crawled out from behind the bush, tiny chubby fists clutching his suspenders nervously. Bard smiled encouragingly when he inched forward and picked up the leather ball.

"Hello, young one," Bard said gently. Now that he had the chance to finally see the child, he noticed some odd features he'd never seen before. The child had unusually hairy feet and slightly pointed ears under the wild mess of jet-black curls. As he watched, the child stuck one thumb into his mouth and plopped down next to Bard, the ball held loosely in his other arm. Bard offered the small child some candy.

"What is your name?" He asked, but the child only stared up at him with those massive blue eyes. Bard smiled helplessly and went back to fashioning a small dragon out of colored paper while the child watched in fascination. They sat in peaceful silence.

_"Fodo."_

"What?" Bard looked up when he heard the word. The dark-haired child peered up at him innocently and raised one tiny hand. He smacked himself gently on the forehead and repeated _"Fodo!"_ with a gap-toothed smile.

"Fodo? Is that your name?" He asked. The child nodded happily. Bard laughed, "I see, my name is Bard," he returned with a grin.

 _"Bad!"_ The child repeated loudly.

"No, no, not 'Bad', it's 'Bard'," Bard corrected, handing a sparkler to him.

 _"Bad! Bad! Bad!"_ The child chanted, waving the sparkling stick around excitedly. Bard gave up.

 _"Frodo!"_ Bard and the small child both whirled around at the panicked shout and saw a short brown-haired man hurrying toward them from the other side of the stream.

 _"Bobo!"_ Frodo giggled happily and held up his sparkler for the man to see.

"Oh, this is not good, so not good. He is _not_ going to be happy. Oh Frodo, what have you done?" Muttering anxiously under his breath, the small man bent down and tried to pick up the small child. Frodo scuttled away like a particularly dexterous crab and wriggled into Bard's lap.

"I knew we were not the only ones in the Lonely Mountains!" Bard said triumphantly. The small man flinched back in shock at his loud volume. Bard hurriedly held up a hand to apologize.

"Sorry, I just, I- I knew I was right," he explained sheepishly and patted Frodo fondly on the head. The child giggled and squirmed closer, small hands fisting Bard’s white shirt.

"Congratulations, but _we_ have to go," the small man said dryly, "if you can hand my nephew back to me, we'll be on our way, thank you." He nervously pulled a pouting Frodo from Bard and turned to go. Frodo waved forlornly at him from his uncle's shoulder.

"Wait, please, I-" Bard started, but the mysterious stranger was already making his way back toward the bend in the stream. Bard watched as the man took quick shuffling steps away from him, occasionally turning back to glance worriedly at the blacksmith. Bard made no move to follow. It was evident that they did not welcome his presence in the valley beneath the mountain. He took took a deep breath and heaved a sigh as he began gathering his stuff.

Bard was almost done when he heard a loud sigh behind him. Whirling around, the blacksmith found the strange little man standing there with Frodo still in his arms, looking both apologetic and agitated. He hadn’t heard the man coming. Bard stopped to stare.

"I am going to regret this,” the short man muttered darkly and ran an agitated hand through his light brown curls. Bard cocked his head quizzically. The man took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

"My name is Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins. I am a _Hobbit_ ," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!!! Why is Bilbo living under the mountains???? I will explain in the next chappie.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard had a hard time keeping his mouth shut. It kept dropping open in amazement and disbelief as he followed Bilbo, the fussy little Hobbit, downstream past a small field of grass, into a tunnel and out the other side to find himself standing in a lush green valley full of tiny intricately built houses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to keep the names of the cities, but this is a bit different from the geographic locations in Middle Earth, so bear in mind that this is an AU. All feedback is welcomed. I love them! Comments really do make me write faster. 
> 
> Spoiler: the next chapter contains SMUT. Yup. If you've read my other fics then you would know by now. * weary sigh*

Bard had a hard time keeping his mouth shut. It kept dropping open in amazement and disbelief as he followed Bilbo, the fussy little Hobbit, downstream past a small field of grass, into a tunnel and out the other side to find himself standing in a lush green valley full of tiny intricately built houses.

Bard could see random Hobbit folk going about their daily business, planting crops in the field, washing clothes by the stream and even chasing after a brown-spotted goat as it bleated loudly and dodged nimble fingers. Next to him, Bilbo raised an amused eyebrow.

"You seem surprised, Master Bard," he said as he beckoned Bard over to a set of neat stone steps.

"This is part of the Lonely Mountains? How, I mean, why do you live here?" Bard asked after the little man as Bilbo strode quickly down the steps and set a wriggling Frodo onto the soft grass. Some of the hobbits had spotted Bard, who stood out like a sore thumb with his dark tunic and immense height. They gasped and dropped their work, clustering around to whisper to one another excitedly. Bilbo rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Gossip, hobbits can't live without it," he confessed with a shake of his head and stopped at the dark round door of a beautifully built cream-colored Hobbit hole. With a grand gesture of his arms, the small Hobbit swept into a majestic bow, "welcome to the Shire, and my own humble abode, Master Bard."

 

* * *

 

He had never met a Hobbit before, but after twenty minutes in Bilbo's presence, he could tell they were a friendly and peaceful race. Bard sat in one of the small chairs in Bilbo's living room and watched the small brown-haired man bustle about, setting a beautiful silver kettle over the stove and placing a plate of biscuits before him. Bilbo's furniture was of top quality, not even squeaking when Bard put his whole weight down on the tiny chair. Frodo raced about on tiny nimble feet, running to his trunk of treasures and back to Bard to show the blacksmith his intricately crafted toys and various trinkets.

"The Dragon King is fair and just," Bilbo said as he placed a dainty china cup by Bard's left hand and poured him some tea. "We live under his protection. Hobbits are non-violent creatures. We value family, good food and comfortable homes."

"As do I, Master Baggins," Bard agreed with a smile. Bilbo chuckled and sat down.

"Oh please, call me Bilbo, only the children call me Master Baggins," Bilbo said and took a sip of his tea.

"Bilbo," Bard corrected and petted Frodo's soft black curls gently when the small Hobbit wriggled onto his knee and held up a small shiny metal helmet for him to see. The fine craftsmanship caught Bard's eye and the blacksmith set down his own tea to take a closer look.

"This is very well-made," he murmured as he ran a calloused thumb over the intricate patterns in the metal. There was a familiar squarish sigil carved into the back. Something tugged at Bard's memory.

"This sigil," he held up the helmet for Bilbo to see, "what house is it?"

The Hobbit scoffed slightly, a wry grin tugging on his lips, "only the most stubborn of Dwarves," he said with a fond glimmer in his warm brown eyes. "That is the sigil of the house of Durin, specifically Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain and Ruler of the great City of Erebor."

"King?" Bard wondered, tracing the neat pattern distractedly, "a Dwarven King made my bread knife?"

"What?" Bilbo choked on his tea. Bard looked up with an amused grin.

"I recall my best dinner set all bear this sigil," he confessed, "it was a family heirloom of sorts, passed down from my ancestors. It does make sense now, I do have to admit, as my bread knife is sharper than most swords in Laketown."

Bilbo was watching Bard with a strange look in his eyes and chuckling under his breath. "Yes, yes, I see the resemblance now, what an odd thing Fate is..."

Bard cocked his head questioningly. Bilbo waved him off with a shrug and changed the subject, "have a biscuit, Bard. They're quite delicious."

The blacksmith accepted a biscuit with a polite thank you, "so how did you come to possess such a fine helmet? I thought Hobbits were peaceful creatures."

Bilbo smiled at that, his face suddenly alive and mischievous, "aye, but every now and then, an apple falls far from the tree. I went on an adventure a long time ago, befriended the King of the Dwarves and spoke with a Dragon. Can you believe that?"

Bard shook his head in amazement, "spoke with a dragon? Do they even talk?" Bilbo only threw his head back and laughed.

"So, you are happy here?" Bard asked after a pause. "You do not fear what the dragon will do to your family?"

Bilbo’s smile faded and his face became serious. "Oh, no, He is good to us. We take care of various errands for Him and in return, He protects us from the growing danger and darkness outside the Lonely Mountain. We have lived here for hundreds of years. Generations of Hobbits, you see. My great-great-great grandfather was the Hobbit who made the deal with King Th-"

There was a gentle but firm knock at the door. Bilbo looked up in surprise and scowled, "it better not be the Sackville-Bagginses, my finest china is still in plain sight! Quick, Bard, hide these in your coat!"

Utterly bewildered, the Man jumped to comply as Bilbo stalked to the door and cautiously eased it open a crack. Bard was in the middle of stuffing a handful of forks down his front when a familiar head of silken white-blond hair appeared in the doorway. Thranduil had to stoop to avoid bumping into the ceiling, but he was still otherworldly graceful in his movements. The blond paused when he saw Bard, dark brows shooting up to his hairline.

"I heard rumors of you being here," Thranduil drawled in a silken voice and paused to give Bard another one of his _looks_ , "there's no need to steal from the Hobbits, there are plenty of forks in the pantry."

"I- no," Bard spluttered and turned bright red. Bilbo hurried over to explain. Bard shot the Hobbit a dark look and slowly pulled three spoon, two knives and a pink lace doily from his coat under Thranduil’s amused gaze.

"Oh for heaven sakes-" Bard cursed and flung the doily down on the table in disgust. Thranduil raised his brow again, the corner of his lip twitching a little.

"My Lord Thranduil, a cup of tea perhaps?" Bilbo said with a small nervous jerk of his hand. Thranduil declined the offer with a slight shake of his head, gliding past the older Hobbit and utterly ignoring an excited Frodo. "Come, Bard, I have procured the items you asked for."

"Really? So soon?" Bard was shocked. He'd only mentioned a few items for his designs in passing, but apparently Thranduil had been paying attention. He felt a warm tightness settle inside his belly. "Of course, we will go at once."

Bard turned to the small Hobbit, who was still hovering nervously by the doorway, "thank you for the tea and biscuits, Master Bilbo. We will meet again, my friend."

He smiled at Frodo and knelt down to allow the tiny Hobbit to hug him. Thranduil stood to the side with barely veiled impatience. Bilbo sent them off with polite goodbyes and Bard left with the promise of making more fireworks for the child.

"I had not known that there were others in the mountains," Bard said excitedly when they stepped out into the open. Around them, Hobbits tittered restlessly, their expressions caught between shock and, to Bard's surprise, fear. Thranduil ignored the commotion, but he sped up visibly, an annoyed frown on his face.

"Thranduil, why did you not tell me?" Bard asked, stubbornly refusing to drop the subject.

"They do not interest me," the blond finally said blandly, leaving Bard to stare after him, the stirring warmth in his chest now curiously gone.

 

* * *

 

It was after three fail attempts that Bard finally realized where the problem was. It wasn't his design that failed to lift Legolas into the air, but the young dragon himself who couldn't seem to let go and just fly.

Legolas peered cautiously over the edge of the cliff and scuttled back again, tail swishing restlessly behind him. Thranduil had parked himself on top of a nearby rock, much to Bard's quiet amusement. Wind was buffeting their ears, making Bard's eyes water and throwing Thranduil's liquid golden hair into the air like a long silken sash.

"Legolas, just jump! It's going to be okay!" Bard felt as if he'd been repeating the same words over and over again, but the young dragon would not budge. Bard walked over to Thranduil, who raised a silent brow, and pulled out the makeshift target he'd made out of an old boot and some used sheets. He walked back to the cliff and under Legolas's keen gaze, dropped the bundle down the rocks.

"Go and retrieve it." Bard insisted with a wild gesture. Legolas cocked his head and inched back. With a huff of annoyance, the blacksmith approached Legolas, pulling the young dragon’s head down to stare him straight in the eyes. "Legolas, can I trust you with my life?"

There was a puzzled pause before Legolas nodded, nuzzling his palm gently. After a long tense moment of close scrutiny, Bard straightened and brushed down his tunic with a deep breath.

"Okay, then," he said quietly as he walked back toward the edge of the rock. " _I need you to catch me, Legolas_ ," Bard said as he turned around, a curious note of finality in his voice. Behind them, Thranduil stirred, his body tensing suddenly.

 _“Bard,”_ the blond man warned, but Bard ignored him, keeping his intense gaze locked on the small white dragon.

Then he stepped back and fell over the side of the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say that Hobbits and Dwarves can live pretty long in this fic. My timeline is a bit shot. Bilbo is still a young Hobbit, like in the movies. Thrandy is very very old. Leggy is about 400-500 years old :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard heard the two of them react at the same time, Thranduil's shocked cry of his name almost as loud as Legolas's panicked screech as he fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chappie. Gosh I'm on a roll with this one. Wish I could say the same with the other WIPs on my profile...
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Only a little bit of smut, Bard is a bit bruised after all. there may be more in the next chapter. Ah the joys of being able to blame everything on alcohol. *smile* 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bard heard the two of them react at the same time, Thranduil's shocked cry of his name almost as loud as Legolas's panicked screech as he fell. A second later, the young dragon hurtled down the cliff after him, wings pressed flat against his sleek body to increase his velocity. Strong scaly paws latched tightly onto Bard's waist and the blacksmith wrapped his arms around Legolas's smooth neck, wind whipping past them hard enough to hurt his unprotected skin.

"OPEN YOUR WINGS AND CATCH THE CURRENT!" He shouted up at the panicking dragon, trying to make his voice loud enough to be heard over the howling wind.

Legolas shrieked and floundered before he finally managed to spread the pair of massive wings on his back. Bard felt a low swooping sensation in his belly as their fast descent was suddenly cut short.

"NOW **BEAT** THEM!" He instructed, throat raw from all the shouting. They were close to the ground when Legolas finally began beating his wings frantically, breath loud and labored as his muscles strained.

They missed the hard rocks by inches. Legolas's hind leg touched the ground once, and they were off, spiraling up into the bright blue sky, Bard hanging off the small dragon's neck like a small spider monkey. Legolas let out a joyful roar and did several dizzying loops before diving down to land heavily on the ground next to a tense Thranduil. The blond man's dark blue eyes were burning, his face ghostly pale and jaw clenched tight. He seemed frozen to the spot, his entire body pulled taunt with tension. For a moment, Thranduil's form seemed to ripple and blur at the edges, the hint of something massive and alien beneath his skin. Bard blinked and it was gone.

He dropped to the dirt and promptly keeled over. Bard hadn't noticed before, but his legs were trembling too hard to stand.

" _You are out of your mind_." Thranduil snapped out of his trance and reached out to catch the shaking blacksmith with equally unsteady hands. Bard felt them fasten onto his forearms like iron brands, desperately trying to keep him rooted to the ground. He pressed his wind-swept forehead against Thranduil's shoulder for a fraction of a second, silently willing his legs to cooperate as he took in the comforting warmth of another human body. Legolas nosed at his back uncertainly, making soft reproachful purrs that Bard recognized as the young dragon's version of a worried scolding.

Bard's heart was still racing a mile a minute, but he threw his head back and laughed, adrenaline still singing in his veins. "You did it! I knew you could do it, Legolas!" The blacksmith turned around and landed a loud smacking kiss atop Legolas's scaly head.

Finally assured that his favorite human was okay, Legolas trilled happily and swept both wings over the two of them, crushing Bard into Thranduil's chest in the process as he nuzzled both of them excitedly. Too elated to care about the unusual proximity, Bard wrapped his arms around the startled blond's body and drew him into a warm tight hug.

For a second, Thranduil's composure cracked and a flood of emotions flickered over his beautiful face, worry, anger, a helpless wonder and something vulnerable. It was gone before Bard could catch more than just a fleeting glance. Thranduil's face had shifted back to its distant mask of cold expressionless distain, but he didn't push the blacksmith away, so Bard closed his eyes and breathed.

 

* * *

 

" _Ah, that stings!_ " Bard hissed in pain when Thranduil's fingers touched the rapidly darkening bruises along his ribs that night. The purple bruises were in the exact shapes of Legolas's paws. Thranduil paused in the process of smearing more ointment into Bard's skin and glanced up.

"Don't be such an infant, you nearly fell to your death. These bruises are nothing," he scolded. Bard groaned in the back of his throat and took a long gulp out of the goblet of wine next to his elbow. The alcohol eased his pain, loosened his tongue, and left his head pleasantly numb.

"You're being intentionally mean," Bard scowled and tugged gently on a strand of white-silver hair. Thranduil's lips lifted briefly before flattening back into a disapproving line. Bard knew he was acting out of line because of the alcohol, but couldn't bring himself to care. Besides, Thranduil made no move to stop Bard when the man's fingers lingered in his long silken locks, so he took the liberty of petting Thranduil's smooth hair to his heart's content. It was quite beautiful and seemed to be forever free of tangles and knots, unlike Bard's own frizzy bird's nest.

"Why do you risk dying so easily?" Thranduil asked eventually, breaking the comfortable silence in his chambers. Bard, who was sufficiently drunk by now, chuckled and shrugged, wincing when his ribs protested.

"I knew he could do it, he just needed an extra push. I trust Legolas, and I trust you," he murmured. Bard's words seemed to shake the blond man to his core. He withdrew his hands and narrowed his icy blue eyes.

"Why do you trust us?" Thranduil cocked his head, disbelief written clearly in his features.

"Why do _you_ continue to save me?" Bard shot back. Thranduil paused before resuming the process of bandaging Bard's bruised chest and scrunched up his nose in a frown.

"I don't know," he confessed softly, and Bard grinned boyishly.

"Our lives are too short to be second-guessing at every little thing, Thranduil. Sometimes, we just have to stop thinking about it, follow your heart and just do it, consequences be damned. That is how life should be lived." Bard declared drunkenly as he smacked his palm against the tabletop for emphasis. Beside him, the elegant blond man had gone still, a thoughtful glint in his bright blue eyes. Bard squinted at him a little, trying to think past the hazy cottony fog that had fallen over his vision.

"You have pretty eyes, did anyone tell you?" He opened his mouth and the first random thought came spilling out.

A curious smile slowly spread over Thranduil's face. His expression wasn't particularly friendly, and normally that would have set off alarm bells in the blacksmith's head and sent him running for the hills, but Bard couldn't keep his mouth shut this time. His wife had always scolded him for being a loud and vocal drunk.

"In fact, you're pretty everywhere. You, my friend, are utterly breathtakingly beauti-"

A cool finger brushed against Bard's jaw and his words petered out. Thranduil was regarding him with scary intensity. Bard suddenly had trouble breathing past the lump in his throat. His heart was pounding harshly against his ribs.

"You say that sometimes one should stop thinking about it and just do it?" The hand at his jaw had lifted to cup Bard's rough cheek. Thranduil's thumb brushed against his lower lip contemplatively, his blue eyes hooded. Bard blinked and smiled dopily at him.

"Yes," he said.

Thranduil leaned forward and kissed him.

 

* * *

 

Bard's gasp of shock was muffled against Thranduil's mouth. His mind screeched to a stop as loud alarms began to go off in his head. Thranduil's palm settled on the back of his neck, rubbing gently along the sensitive skin like he was trying to calm a frightened animal. The gesture sent guilty sparks of pleasure running down Bard's spine.

_He couldn't do this. He needed to pull away. He just had to..._

Bard's hand fluttered weakly against Thranduil's firm chest and fell uselessly into his lap. His limbs felt like soft putty from the alcohol. Blood rushed and pounded along with Bard's racing heart. With a quiet moan, he parted his lips and allowed Thranduil to push inside, the blond's hot wet tongue insistent and dominating. His other hand trailed up Bard's leg and settled high and possessive on his left thigh.

"Thranduil, wait-" he tried to protest. "I did not mean-"

"You almost _died_ today," the blond man's cool breath ghosted over Bard's tingling lips. A finger traced tenderly along Bard's rough cheek.

"Yes, but-" he was struggling to clear his head.

"I realized that-" Thranduil's hand dropped down boldly to palm the growing ache between the blacksmith's legs. Bard's mouth fell open as his words died on his lips. A heavy kiss landed along his sensitive ear, "-I desired more than friendship from you-" Thranduil squeezed and Bard went rigid, his hand knocking over the cup of wine and tightening itself around the blond's wrist. "-I need assurance that your heart yet beats," he whispered, laying a trail of heated kisses along Bard's neck. A pale hand tugged his tunic open effortlessly and Bard cried out as Thranduil's other hand worked ruthlessly between his spread thighs. He threaded his fingers in Thranduil's long blond locks and panted, eyes watering slightly from the onslaught of pleasure.

"Do not ever place yourself in danger like that again." Thranduil's voice was like liquid silver, dark and possessive as he claimed Bard's mouth in a punishing kiss. Bard came with a muffled cry, pleasure shooting up his spine as Thranduil worked him through the most intense orgasm of his life. He whimpered and pushed feebly at the blond man when his touch became too much on his sensitive member.

Bard gaped wordlessly as Thranduil pulled his soiled hand from his loose breeches, the sinful evidence of his pleasure glistening white and thick on the other man’s fair skin. Bard swallowed and dropped his hand hurriedly from its place in Thranduil's hair, horror and mortification now surfacing to replace arousal.

_What had he done?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bring them back to the City," the young Dwarf ordered, "Thorin will want to see this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, no more smut in this chappie, but I had fun writing it anyway. :D 
> 
> I joined da cool kidz on tumblr. Barduil Trash is so beautiful, my friend. So excited. XD

Bard fled.

He knew it was a coward's move, but before Thranduil could speak, Bard pushed past him and ran. He could not and would not dwell upon the twinge of disappointment when Thranduil did not follow. It was _too_ much.

He hadn't seen the man for two days now, but Bard told himself that it was for the best. He could not face Thranduil after what had happened.

The first touch of frost upon the leaves of Mirkwood Forest reminded Bard painfully of just how long he had been away from his family. He'd left Laketown in the last days of summer. It was rapidly approaching winter now and Bard was more restless than ever. He would see them, his children, even if he would be risking the wrath of the dragon and bringing possible danger upon their village. It was selfish of him, but Bard wanted to hold his children in his arms again no matter the consequences.

Bard took full advantage of the awkwardness between Thranduil and himself by procuring a hand-drawn map and an odd little compass from Bilbo. He fashioned a crude saddle for Legolas and packed some essential items for the journey in a makeshift pack.

On the fourth day, Bard climbed upon the highest peak, placed his fingers to his lips and blasted a loud whistle up into the blue sky. He waited for a few seconds before a small fleck of white detached itself from the clouds and glided down to land gracefully next to him. Legolas shook his head delightedly and nudged Bard's hand in greeting.

"Legolas, my friend, I have need of your assistance..." Looking the young dragon in the eye, Bard began carefully.

 

* * *

 

Bard did not sleep that night. Instead, he stayed up all night trying to compose a letter of explanation and apology to Thranduil. He explained about his family and his desire to see them, if only a brief glimpse. Bard also apologized for acting out of line a few nights ago.

Glancing down at his own cramped spidery scrawl, Bard cursed and crumpled the paper before tossing it onto the table.

He spent the rest of the night memorizing the map Bilbo had given him. He would fly north, skirt around Erebor and Dale before arriving at Laketown.

When dawn came, Bard left his room, pack on his back and weapon at his hip. He paused next to the doors to Thranduil's chambers. Bard stared at the tightly shut doors and hesitated, his hands going to fists at his sides. He was not even sure Thranduil was inside. The blond man could be mysteriously absent when he wanted to be, he recalled with a hesitant smile. Bard touched the smooth surface of the heavy oaken doors and took a deep breath.

" _Till we meet again, my friend_ ," he whispered quietly and turned to leave.

Legolas was waiting expectantly outside the caves. His head perked excitedly when he spotted Bard. Bard smiled up at the young dragon as he pulled out his simple saddle. Sweet innocent Legolas thought they were going on an adventure to Laketown. He quickly checked the makeshift supports on Legolas's left wing. Bard hoped the older dragon would not find them gone for a couple of hours. After pressing a reassuring kiss to Legolas's head, Bard swung his leg over the dragon's back and mounted.

"Let's fly," he said, patting Legolas's side.

Legolas spread his large wings and kicked off into the air.

 

* * *

 

Bard had anticipated beforehand that riding a dragon was not the same as riding a horse. He'd worn extra clothes and taken other precautions, but nothing prepared him for the cold stinging wind that tore the map from his frozen fingers after five minutes atop Legolas's back. He could feel the gentle shift of Legolas's muscles between his cramped legs. Bard could not, however, feel his buttocks anymore. Nor his entire face for that matter.

They were lost. Surely they were. He had not recalled the scenery beneath him when he had dangled from the jaws of the older dragon on his way to the Lonely Mountains. Of course, it was snowing gently at the moment, so that could also have altered the landscape.

Bard fumbled for the compass secured to his inner coat pocket with clumsy fingers. The small needle was spinning wildly from north to south, broken somehow after a mere five minutes away from the Mountains, so Bard gritted his teeth and decided to just follow his instincts and memory. He hunched down against Legolas's back to avoid the worst of the wind. Bard would endure the discomfort a thousand times for the chance to see his children again.

He did not notice the first arrow, the mute color blending perfectly with the dark swirling snow around them. It wasn't until another arrow clipped Legolas's right wing and the young dragon dipped dramatically that Bard suddenly became aware of the assault. Two little dark dots, stark in contrast to the pale snow, moved rapidly beneath them, but they were too small for Bard to make out. The arrow that had clipped Legolas was too fine to have been crafted by orcs or goblins. Two more dots joined them and before Bard could tell Legolas to fly higher to avoid the arrows, something huge and heavy enveloped them. It was some sort of net, launched into the air by one of the figures on the ground. Legolas cried out and dropped while Bard tried to hack at the sturdy ropes around them. The air whipped around them, tearing at Bard's skin and clothes like daggers. He heard the snapping of branches beneath them.

Because he was carrying a rider, Legolas had not flown at his usual altitude, and the descent to the ground was a short one, followed by much flailing and shouting. Bard fell off of the dragon and rolled to an ungainly stop next to Legolas's tail. His shoulder throbbed a little and the remnants of the bruises on his chest were protesting in agony, but the pain was not past endurance. Legolas's thick hide protected him from virtually everything, so Bard was not worried the young dragon had been hurt in the fall. He tried to stand.

Something hard and cold pressed into the back of Bard's neck, halting all movement. From his years of experience as a blacksmith, Bard knew the shape of the blade belonged to an axe, quite a large one at that.

"Who are you to trespass upon our lands?" A deep gruff voice asked. Legolas shifted and growled, his wings trying to flare up threateningly underneath the heavy sturdy net over his body. Behind them came more shouting, now laced with visible alarm.

"By the spirits! It's a dragon." A deep voice gasped.

"Where's Ori, Dwalin?" Someone else called, "have you seen my brother?"

"Forget about your brother, Nori. Get over here, all of you!" Dwalin, the one with his axe pressed against the back of Bard's skull, shouted.

Around him, figures appeared out of the snow, short stout creatures with vast amounts of facial hair. Bard blinked in shock.

_Dwarves._

They'd been shot down by Dwarves? Did that mean that they were in Erebor? He recalled that the Dwarven City was located between Dale and the Lonely Mountains, but-

"Get up and show us your hands," the Dwarf behind Bard commanded. Standing slowly with his hands raised, the blacksmith looked around for a better view at his captors. Two of them had heavy-looking crossbows aimed at Bard and another one was inspecting Legolas, who bared his sharp teeth at them and snapped. Bard had never seen the young dragon so angry before, his bright blue eyes slitted with annoyance as he flicked his tail at the nearest Dwarf.

"Ori! Get away from the beast!" One of the Dwarves shouted sharply. The small Dwarf hurriedly scuttled to comply.

"My apologies, but we were merely passing over the land when you shot us down. We mean you no harm, and if you will let us continue on our journey-" Bard began. The tall bald Dwarf wielding the battle axe growled in warning.

"Dwalin! Let him talk." Another voice called out and a young blond Dwarf with neatly braided hair and beard stepped out from the trees, twin blades held firmly in both hands. He wore ashen grey furs over a dark tunic and sturdy black boots. Bard saw the soft glimmer of a finely-crafted silver chain-mail shirt and the shapes of countless other weapons concealed underneath the furs.

"My name is Fili, and these are brothers of the City Patrol," he said, sheathing his weapons. "I apologize for shooting you down, but it has been decades since we've last seen a dragon flying over Erebor, let alone a human upon its back. It has caused quite the alarm." He gestured for Dwalin to lower his axe, but Bard noticed that the two crossbows were still trained on him.

"Where is your destination, Dragon-rider?" The young Dwarf asked. Bard eyed him wearily. Should he speak the truth?

"Laketown, Master Dwarf." Bard finally said and a explosion of murmuring began.

"Laketown? Where's that?"

"Laketown, why I do believe it's very near to Dale."

"Dale? We don't speak of Dale!"

"Come to think of it, this one looks familiar, doesn't he, lads?"

" _Why, he looks just like Giri-_ "

"Enough!" Fili held up his hand and they quieted quickly. The blond Dwarf narrowed his golden eyes at Bard, studying him closely. "You come from the Lonely Mountains, I presume."

Behind Bard, Legolas hissed. Fili's hand flew to his sword.

"Legolas, don't!" Bard tried to calm the dragonling with his words but Legolas was still twisting angrily from within the nets.

" _You're His henchman!_ " The huge bald Dwarf pointed a blunt finger at Bard and shouted. The others shifted uneasily. Fili's hand tightened over his sword hilt.

"The dragon? No! I was trying to go back to Laketown to see my family. I was supposed to avoid Erebor all together, but the old compass Bilbo gave me broke and-"

"Bilbo?" The young blond's eyes widened. Cries of Bilbo's name went through the small group of Dwarves. To Bard's surprise, one or two of them chuckled fondly.

"Where is the compass he gave you, Dragon-rider?" Fili cleared his throat and asked. Bard slowly drew out the still spinning compass and held it out.

"This is Uncle Thorin's! You say that Bilbo gave it to you? Bilbo Baggins?" The blond Dwarf demanded.

"Yes, he told me this will help me find my children no matter where they were," Bard said, perplexed by the reaction, "but it's broken because it wouldn't stop spinning the moment I flew out of the mountains."

"It's not broken," the blond Dwarf whispered softly, carefully taking the small round disk from Bard's fingers. In his hand, the needle stopped spinning and slowly slid back to rest upon North. Bard frowned.

_What on earth?_

The Dwarves were watching him closely. There was a strange glint in Fili's golden brown eyes when he raised his hand for the command.

"Bring them back to the City," the young Dwarf ordered, "Thorin will want to see this."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leggy does not like Dwarves. :0
> 
> Next chappie is in Kili's POV. Enter the Dwarves and BAMF!Tauriel. XD


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili loved Tauriel with all of his heart despite the fact that she was a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I had a super busy week. XP Also I was working on writing new chapters for my other WIPs... I am so sorry for leaving everyone hanging (in all my stories...) I type really slow (two fingers). 
> 
> Enjoy and leave me a comment. The Barduil community can get pretty lonely sometimes. :P

Kili loved Tauriel with all of his heart despite the fact that she was a dragon.

When he'd first seen her holding back the infamous spiders of Mirkwood to save two foolish Dwarven princes, he'd known she was his One, his heartsong and soulmate. It was too bad she didn't think the same at the time.

Tauriel had thrown her head back and laughed before setting his thin (still growing!) beard on fire when he went down on one knee, still coated in spider webs and to Fili's silent horror, confessed his undying love. She'd left without a backward glance, her fiery red hair burning a throbbing brand in his heart.

It did seem sudden, falling in love, but Dis had always said Kili was a helpless romantic at heart. And wasn't there a saying that went, love strikes when you least expect it? When he said the words out loud, Fili had rolled his eyes so hard Kili feared his brother had broken something in his shiny blond head.

So it had begun, the legendary courtship that would span over decades and be written down in Dwarven history as the infamous incident that finally turned Thorin's hair grey at the temples. Kili had frequented the Mirkwood forests as much as he could, serenading his redheaded beauty from atop his skittish pony while a reluctant Fili and sometimes Ori played the musician in the background. They always had to make ungainly retreats when the spiders (drawn to them because of Kili's atrocious singing) became too much to handle.

Kili had known that Dwarves and Dragons did not get along. Both notorious for their love of gold, the two kinds of creatures found each other unbearable, but Kili had never been particularly fond of precious metals and gems. Instead, he loved the vast open sky, with its endless diamond stars, so far yet so incredibly bright. Tauriel shared the same love, even though she had not chosen to share that information with him.

Kili didn't mind. He had never backed down from a challenge before. Ever. He would woo his dragon lady in due time and propose a thousand times if necessary, for they were truly soul mates.

And eventually, she said _yes._

 

* * *

 

Kili was in the middle of running the intricate comb through Tauriel's long fiery red hair when Fili burst in, bringing with him the icy chill of winter and snow. By the mud on his boots, Kili knew his older brother had been on City Patrol.

"Kili, come quick! You won't believe what we found in the forest," Fili shouted before Kili could open his mouth. Tauriel turned around and raised an elegant eyebrow at the blond Dwarf.

"Oh? What have you found, Master Fili? Another pretty Dwarven lass perhaps?" She teased and stood as Kili hopped down from his stool with a scowl. He'd been looking forward to some alone time with Tauriel since forever. She'd been extra busy as of late, starting with the unexpected summonings from her King, Thranduil. Kili didn't particularly like the Dragon King. He was quite cold and hostile toward Dwarves, especially after Tauriel had gone against his wishes and moved out of the Mountains to live with Kili. Thorin hadn't had any relations and trade with the Dragon King since Lord Girion's death, so Tauriel rarely mentioned Thranduil at all these days.

"It's a human from the Lonely Mountains," Fili said grimly. To Kili's confusion, Tauriel's smile disappeared in an instant.

"Oh no, what have you lot _done_ _now?"_ She whispered in horror as she ran to the door.

 

* * *

 

Kili had witnessed Thorin's anger quite a few times in the relatively long period of living in his uncle's presence. They were usually classified as pure wrath (usually preserved toward the Dragon King Thranduil and the occasional Orcs), annoyance (his royal nephews and Tauriel), grudging mumbling and occasional pouting (only toward Bilbo), and stunned silence (quickly followed by outrage). The last Kili hadn't seen in a long time. There weren't many thing in the world that could unsettle The King Under the Mountain anymore, but when Kili raced into the throne room, Thorin's face was ghost-white with shock.

"Girion, you yet live?" Were the first words out of the king's mouth when the dark-haired stranger lifted his head to glare at them wearily, his hands bound behind him and Dwalin's axe pressed firmly against his back.

"Prince Legolas!" Tauriel gasped softly at the sight of the small white dragon wrapped tightly in Nori's sturdy nets. Before Kili could comprehend the situation, Thorin had leapt to his feet, drew out Orcrist to point at the bound Man with an angry roar of "THIEF!".

The room went wild.

Balin, looking a little unsettled himself, tried in vain to calm Thorin down while Fili tried to shield their captive from the king's wrath. The small dragon hissed and writhed furiously.

"That is not Girion!" At Kili's side, Tauriel hissed urgently, her long slim fingers digging deep into his forearm. "Kili, you have to convince Thorin to let them go. King Thranduil will be furious when he finds out!"

"What is going on?" Kili asked in utter bewilderment while Balin tried to remind the king that Men could not live such long lives. His uncle didn't seem convinced.

"What is your name, Man?" The King Under the Mountain demanded. The Man seemed to struggle internally before opening his mouth, scowl still firmly etched in the sharp lines of his face.

"Bard of Laketown, My Lord," he said in a low rough voice. It was odd, Kili noted, although bound, the Man still held an air of command, dignified and composed despite kneeling in front of the Dwarven King. "I do not know what grudge you have with my ancestor, but I know not-"

"Your ancestor?" Thorin echoed, "Girion is your ancestor?"

Beside him, Tauriel gasped sharply and covered her mouth. Kili touched her ice-cold hand with his warmer fingers. "My love, what is wrong?" He asked, and for once, Tauriel did not gift him with a reply.

"Then you would know that Girion once stole something of mine," his uncle was saying, blue eyes narrowed with barely contained rage, "the Heart of the Mountain it was called, the Arkenstone, my family heirloom."

"I have never-" Bard argued, obvious confusion on his face as he peered around the room at their faces. Thorin made an angry sound, his hand tightening around his blade. Kili was surprised to see the Man's eyes widen in recognition when they landed on his Tauriel. He tried to rise, mouth opening to form words when Dwalin growled in warning behind him.

Face smoothing over, Bard stopped struggling. " _I had not known that Dwarves were so petty_ _as to blame innocent people for the misgivings of others_ ," he spat, hazel eyes smoldering in disgust when they flickered back to Thorin.

"Uncle, wait!" Kili stumbled forward before Thorin's sword could reach Bard's unprotected neck. Tauriel had not so subtly shoved Kili forward. Thorin turned his angry blue eyes on his nephew. Fili was watching them with a tense frown, ready to leap forward and defend his stupid little brother if necessary. Kili gulped, "if the Arkenstone was stolen by Lord Girion, he must have passed on the location to his kin. Perhaps the Man can remember where it is."

Bard narrowed his eyes at Kili.

"Well? Do you know the location of the Arkenstone?" Thorin demanded impatiently. There was a long tense silence. Kili studied the faces of the dwarves around them. Most seemed curious, a few outraged, only Balin closed his eyes and looked despairing when the Man opened his mouth to speak.

"There is a strange light in the ghost city of Dale, pale and bright as the stars above," Bard said with a resigned note in his quiet voice, "every night it glows like a beacon upon the tallest tower. I do not know if it is your stone. We dare not venture there as the land is cursed."

A strange hungry excitement crossed Thorin's face before the King Under the Mountain drew himself to his fullest height, "very well, Man." He boomed, "You will lead us to this glowing beacon-"

"My King, urgent news!" A red-faced guard burst into the throne room, cutting Thorin off in the middle of his sentence and successfully attracting everyone's attention.

"A dra- dra-gon! There is a dragon at our gates!" He stuttered fearfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit will hit the fan in the next chappie. Angst Warnings ahead.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Centuries ago, Bilbo's great-great-great grandfather had befriended the King of Dragons, so the tales went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers, sorry for the long wait. I had a very busy and stressful week with like four hours of sleep every day. I usually try to squeeze in at least six. So it was very hard for me to find the energy to write. But it's here now! And it's in Bilbo's POV. The side relationships will be explored as the story progresses! 
> 
> Love you all, and all your amazing comments! I have never had any writer's blocks for this fic and let's hope it stays that way. (So sorry for the fans of TSKOP...)

Centuries ago, Bilbo's great-great-great grandfather had befriended the King of Dragons, so the tales went. Moved by the Hobbits' gentle nature, the Dragon King provided them with necessary shelter when the Evil in the North began to fester and take over the lands. They named their new home The Shire and dwelled in peace within the vast caverns of the Lonely Mountains, occasionally providing food and supplies for their allies.

It was here that Bilbo was born. When he was a wee Hobbit, Bilbo remembered climbing all over the giant white Dragon King with his other tiny friends while Thranduil napped. His mate, a beautiful golden Dragon with gleaming yellow scales, often curled next to him, flicking her tail playfully when the small Hobbits touched her pretty scales with curious fingers. There were others as well, dragons of every color, big and small, but as time went on and as the Evil in the North grew, they left one by one. Slowly, Thranduil's halls quieted and the air grew still. The Dragon King spent more days sleeping than awake. It was only when young Legolas hatched did a hint of warmth seep back into Thranduil's ice-cold eyes. Bilbo knew it was difficult lingering in a world without any companions, and he often tried to invite Thranduil over for afternoon tea, but when word of the other Hobbits' trepidation reached his ears, the Dragon King withdrew once more. And as time went on, Bilbo saw less and less of him, although he himself held half the blame, because it was during this period that Bilbo went on his adventure and befriended the most unlikely of creatures - Dwarves.

Then came along Girion, the lost Man who nearly died when he chanced upon the spiders of Mirkwood; Girion who wore his heart on his sleeve and was unbearably noble; Girion, who longed for a world where the races were united as one to fend off the growing Darkness.

Bilbo had never dreamed of befriending a Man. Dangerous creatures they were, with their lies and deceits, but Girion had only thrown his head back and laughed when Bilbo confessed his rather judgmental thoughts. As time went on, Bilbo found him to be a rather curious fellow.

Girion was like a ripple in a still pond. Bilbo watched from the sidelines as the friendship developed between Thranduil and Girion, watched with even more amazement when Girion somehow charmed Thorin, who was stubborn as a mule some times, into cooperating as well. He had become the buffer between those two chaotic personalities, his warm brown eyes glowing with amusement as he sat between the two glowering kings during many of their verbal confrontations. Bilbo was there when Girion became the Lord of Dale and watched as the city flourished and a short peace was introduced to the world. He could recall a time when Men walked alongside Dwarves, Dragons, Faeries and other creatures.

Then Girion passed away and with his death, came the roiling Darkness from the North, gaining power over the land once more. The peace treaties broke and Thranduil retreated back into his mountains, frost seeping back into his eyes once again.

 

* * *

 

"My Lord, please listen to reason," Bilbo pleaded as he followed the tall blond man on his considerably shorter legs. Thranduil ignored his attempts and quickened his pace. They were rapidly approaching the tall stone gates of Erebor, so close that Bilbo could almost make out the whites of the sentries' eyes. He made one last attempt, "Come now, Thranduil? Really? He's bound to try and leave with or without my help! He's got three children! It's better this way, I mean at least he won't get lost and die from starv- _oof_ -"

A wave of magic hit Bilbo straight in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. Atop the gates, the dwarves had been frozen in their various states of alarm, eyes wide and mouths askew. Thranduil slide his hand back into his lush silver green robes and continued on, his cold face utterly devoid of any expression. Behind them, the tall leafless trees hiding Erebor's gates from prying eyes burned with bright white-blue flames.

Bilbo swallowed past the lump in his throat and quickly chased after his king. Things looked grim, but he had a bad feeling they were going to get a lot worse.

 

* * *

 

"He will not dare enter the halls of my ancest-" The Dwarven King was saying when Thranduil flung open the heavy stone doors with a burst of magic, sending four guards tumbling head over heels onto the hard stone floor from the force. Thorin's hand flew to his sword as Thranduil swept into the room, his tall form cutting an imposing figure in a room full of Dwarves that barely reached his gem-studded belt. Bilbo stumbled into the room after him, heart pounding in his chest as his eyes settled on that familiar figure.

_"Thranduil!"_

_"Halfling!"_

Bard and Thorin opened their mouths at the same time. Still kneeling in front of Dwalin, the dark-haired Man seemed to sag with relief upon the sight of Thranduil. Bilbo scowled at the King Under the Mountain, a wave of anger engulfing his common sense.

"You clueless _pig!_ Why in heavens did you kidnap Bard?!" Thorin's eyes widened almost comically when Bilbo threw the apple in his knapsack at the Dwarven King. He barely dodged the flying fruit, indignation quickly replacing the surprise on his face. Fili and Kili gaped at him while a few feet away, Tauriel made a noise between a strangled laugh and a horrified groan. The other Dwarves were frozen in various states of shock. But before Bilbo could throw any more projectiles, a cool hand landed on his shoulder, halting all movement.

"I have come to take back what is mine," Thranduil spoke, his deep commanding voice echoing through the chamber like rolling thunder. His cool gaze flicked over the room of Dwarves, past a still-struggling Legolas before finally settling on Bard. The bound man stared back, and to Bilbo's curiosity, blushed bright red before averting his gaze.

Upon seeing Thranduil's obvious intention, Bilbo sighed and stepped forward, ignoring Thorin's murderous glare and Dwalin's slack-jawed amazement as he quickly began to loosen the ties around Bard's wrists.

"What are you all standing around for? _Seize them!_ " Thorin bellowed, waving Orcrist around for emphasis.

"What for? We did nothing wrong." Bilbo pointed out with a scowl as he straightened.

Thorin scowled back. "Did nothing wrong, eh? _What of my family heirloom? What of the Arkenstone that Girion robbed?_ " He pointed an accusing finger at the tall blond Dragon King, "you blasted dragon, you helped him, didn't you? Preying on my trust and taking the King Under the Mountain for a fool, well it's never going to happen again!"

Thranduil's eyes widened a fraction, a tense flicker of panic flashing briefly over his face at the words, but Bard had drawn out a pocket knife, pushed his way past a protesting Fili and was too busy hacking at the bindings on Legolas to pay any attention to their argument.

Thorin surprised Bilbo by jerking him backward with a heavy hand on his wrist. "Not to mention, _you also stole my burglar!_ " He accused with a scowl. Bilbo blinked at the Dwarven King in surprise and was curious to see the tips of Thorin's ears redden slightly under his scrutiny. Across the hall, Bard had freed the young dragon, but three of the guards pointed their spears at him when he tried to step forward.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes and drew himself up to his full height. His presence seemed to expand and fill the room, dark and ominous. A few Dwarves shifted nervously. "You _fool_ , I have no idea what you are ranting about, Oakenshield. Perhaps it is time to surrender your crown to one of your nephews instead."

"You dare accuse _me_ of old age?! How ironic!" Thorin shouted back. "Don't deny your involvement, coward-"

Bard had halted and was watching them with an unreadable expression on his face. Thranduil seemed livid with rage, something that seemed to only happen in Thorin's presence. It was the last straw, because Bilbo had had enough. Slapping one small hand over Thorin's mouth, the Hobbit turned to face the King Under the Mountain and confessed.

" _I did it._ " Bilbo said.

"You did what?" Thorin asked blankly. Bilbo gave a pained smile and repeated his words. It was ironic that the one he loved with all of his heart was finally paying full attention to him and it was over a useless piece of rock.

"I stole the Arkenstone after I saw the extent of its influence over you, Thorin. Erebor needed a great leader, the Dwarves needed a noble king. I had no doubt it would be you, my dearest friend. But the Stone was already influencing you, I could tell the moment I unearthed it. It was destroying you from the inside." He watched as the emotions flickered over Thorin's face, rage, betrayal, sadness... Bilbo went on.

"I begged Girion to take the stone when he was leaving. He'd been named The Lord of Dale a fortnight ago and would be setting out for Dale in the morning. I asked that he hid the stone somewhere you will never find."

Thorin's fingers felt like iron brands on his wrist. Bilbo felt tears gather in his eyes as his voice shook. "So you see, Thorin, King Thranduil had nothing to do with this. _I was the one who robbed you_..."

Thorin was frozen to the spot. There was a tense silence while everyone in the room processed the piece of information. For four centuries, the Arkenstone had been missing, and just as Thorin had finally forgotten...

Bilbo closed his eyes in despair, but he felt strangely empty after his confession. He waited calmly for the Dwarven King to gather his wits again. Across the room, Balin was watching him with a sad knowing smile. Beside him, Thorin drew in a deep rattling breath and flinched back. The gesture stung, but Bilbo gathered the broken pieces of his heart and kept the hurt from showing in his face.

"Traitor! Seize them all and lock them up in the dungeons." Raising a shaking finger, Thorin roared to the guards. "Including the dragons," he added with a disgusted snarl. The Dwarves shifted uneasily around him, but curiosity none chose to move. Ori and Nori were giving Bilbo sympathetic and peevish glances, while Kili actually shoved one of the more obedient guards back with a warning scowl.

"Wait, you said _dragons_ ," a low rough voice said suddenly, drawing all attention to the blacksmith of Laketown. Bard stepped forward with narrowed eyes. "What dragons? There is only one."

Bilbo looked up at his king and saw Thranduil's composure crack for a brief second, panic resurfacing. Bilbo glanced between Legolas and Tauriel. Things were spinning out of control faster than any one of them could step in and intervene. A sly smile appeared on Thorin's face as he stared at the tall Dragon King.

"You don't _know_ do you, Man?" He purred as he approached Bard. The Man eyed Thorin with a weary frown. 

"Know what?" He asked slowly.

"There is _nothing_ to know-" Thranduil cut in tensely before Thorin could open his mouth.

Bard looked between the two of them, "no, let him talk. I want to hear this."

"Thranduil here is a _dragon,_ " Thorin spat out his name like a curse. "I take it that you don't know the dragons that have not consumed Man flesh have two physical forms," his lips curled in distain. "Your so-called _friend_ has destroyed villages, pillaged towns and-"

 ** _"ENOUGH!"_** Thranduil's voice was more beast than Man, a deep rumbling thunder-like growl. For a moment, his eyes glowed like bright blue flames in his pale beautiful face, but the Dragon King quickly composed himself, the glamor settling fully over his form once more.

The damage, however, had been done.

"A dragon..." Bard murmured, his face chalky pale and expressionless. "You are _the dragon_. _You_ ripped me from my children, _you_ plundered my town and _you_ lied to me, _Thranduil_."

Thranduil flinched back as if the quiet words had been poisonous arrows aimed at his unprotected chest. Bilbo was struck with the sudden and strong urge to smack Thorin over his annoyingly hard head for ruining everything. The _stupid_ Dwarf.

"What am I to you?" Bard asked, his voice resigned. There was a bone-deep hurt in his hazel eyes and Bilbo watched as the Man clench his fists tightly when all he received was silence.

Bilbo knew Thranduil had a legendarily cranky temper, was a morose drunk, and unfortunately, could not express his feelings even if someone threatened him with death. He had the stubborn habit of keeping up the coldly indifferent and impenetrable armor while his heart bled dry.

"You are a part of my hoard," Thranduil finally said as he turned to leave. "Now _come._ "

"No." Bard's voice was devoid of any emotion. "I will not."

Thorin's smug smirk was almost too much to bear. With his back to them, Bilbo saw Thranduil's face crumple in pain, his hand clenching so hard that blood trickled down his knuckles and left deep crimson spots on his immaculate robes. A ripple of gleaming white scales ran across the king's cheek before disappearing once more. In all his years, Bilbo had never seen him so shaken. Thranduil's glamor was barely holding.

" _Legolas, come_ ," the Dragon King bit out without turning back.

The small dragon glanced in confusion between Bard and his father, but the blacksmith refused to meet his gaze. Bilbo sighed and, ignoring Thorin's hawk-like gaze, walked over to the young Prince.

"Come, Prince Legolas." He said quietly. Legolas refused to budge until a pale slender hand touched his scaly head. Tauriel smiled sadly at the confused dragon.

"It's time to leave, Legolas." She said gently as she led the reluctant prince off after Thranduil. Kili watched forlornly as his love left the halls, but made no move to stop her.

Bilbo paused at the doors, turning back for one last look. Bard was staring unseeingly at the floor, his face deathly pale. Thorin was still standing there, his blade drawn, large as life and decked in his rich furs. The rest of the Company and the guards seemed too shaken to do anything, let alone formulate words.

"I don't regret my decision, never have," Bilbo smiled sadly. "I did what was necessary to save you and your people, Thorin. And Thranduil did not steal me, _you_ were the one who pushed me away."

"Goodbye, my friend." Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked out the door after his King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the angst begin. Mwahahaha. Btw, don't hate Thorin, he's an idiot, but a very lovable idiot. :>
> 
> Previews for next chappie: Bard sets out for Laketown. (Finally)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard finally goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update as fast as I can. I love the Bardlings. :) 
> 
> I love all the great comments!!! XDD thank you so much, lovely readers.

Bard sat slumped in the small damp cell. He hadn't slept a wink since the Dwarves had locked him up, since Thranduil had arrived to take him back to the Lonely Mountains, since he'd found out in the most painful way that the man he'd been living with was really his captor in disguise.

_How was it that they'd never know?_

Bard's mother had never told him Dragons could change appearances and hide within the ranks of Men. Great Gran Ethel had said something about dragon-like men, but then she had also insisted she'd seen a female Orc once. _Completely off her rockers that one,_ Bard's mother used to say with an affectionate shake of her head while a young Bard followed her eagerly around the house like a baby chick.

Closing his eyes, the blacksmith exhaled loudly. He missed them, Great Gran Ethel, his parents, his gentle wife and their three beautiful children. But a small part of him longed to see Thranduil again and beg the blond man to take back his words, to tell him that it had all just been a mean joke. Deep inside, however, he knew it was not true.

" _Oww_ , Fee! You stepped on my foot!" There was a muffled bang, some soft shuffling and an indignant grunt. Bard sat up stiffly, trying to keep alert despite the heavy weariness weighing down his limbs like lead.

"Shut up, Kili! You'll draw the attention of the guards!" A familiar voice hissed back.

Bard squinted into the darkness and watched as the two young Dwarves approached. Fili, the blond Dwarf who had led the patrol, and another lookalike with shoulder-length dark hair and a short beard. Bard had recalled him standing with the red haired maiden who was somehow affiliated with both Thranduil and the Dwarves. Their relationships were becoming more and more confusing by the minute.

"He's not all that stunning to look at," the dark haired one said with a critical frown when they stopped in front of Bard's cell. "I don't understand why Tauriel said-"

Fili smacked him upside the head with one quick palm, the gesture familiar and sure as if he'd done it a thousand times. "Shut your big mouth, Kee, or I will tell Balin you're not going." The blond Dwarf warned softly as he produced a thick chain of keys from his cloak.

"What are you doing?" Bard asked hoarsely as he stood.

Turning back to face him, Fili stared the blacksmith grimly in the eye. "We're setting you free."

 

* * *

 

He had to stoop when the two Dwarven princes (and obviously brothers) led him through the secret tunnel. When they finally pushed their way into the blinding snow, Bard nearly cried in relief. To be able to breath in the air aboveground once more was a feeling he could not describe.

"Master Bard, Fili, Kili." The white haired Dwarf Bard had seen in the throne room the other day waved at them from behind a thick gnarly tree trunk. Beside him, three packs had been tied to two small ponies and a not-so-big horse.

"The name's Balin," he said with a smart bow. "I take it that the extraction was successful?" The older Dwarf asked with a small mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Kili grinned while Fili only nodded.

"Well then, you must be off," he said briskly, patting one of the small ponies. "You should get a half day's worth of riding before Thorin finds you missing."

"You are letting me _leave_?" Bard was confused. The old Dwarf shook his head sadly.

"Aye, your freedom in exchange for the Arkenstone. I'm afraid this is the only way. Fili and Kili will accompany you to Laketown and from there, you will travel to Dale. The Princes will have to bring back the Arkenstone." He sighed and looked Bard straight in the eye. "Personally, I do not wish for that blasted rock to be found, but it cannot be ignored forever. One must face one's ghosts sooner or later."

"What does it do? If it is malicious, why bring it back?" Bard couldn't help but ask. Balin sighed again, his brows furrowing in agitation.

"The Arkenstone is a symbol of ultimate power. It has the power to unite the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms together under one leader." Balin explained.

"Whoever holds the stone," Bard finished for him.

"Exactly." Balin nodded. "However, the strongest of kings have fallen under it spell, driven mad by the sickness and greed. Thorin's ancestors, they have all succumbed to it. I fear our beloved King will as well."

"That is why Bilbo wanted to get rid of it." Fili cut in, shoving the reins of the small horse into Bard's hands. "We don't have much time."

"What about the king?" Bard asked.

Balin chuckled and rubbed his chin with a critical smile. "We'll convince him this is for the best when you are on the road to Laketown." He patted the horse's head after Bard mounted smoothly. "I am sorry it had to come to this, Master Bard." Balin said.

Bard took one last glance in the direction of the Lonely Mountains. In the distance, it was merely a hulking shadowy mass concealed behind thick white mist. He thought about Thranduil and Legolas, on their own once more. Bard tightened his grip on the reins hard enough to hurt and turned back to face the North. He was finally going home.

"I am sorry as well, Master Dwarf." He said quietly and kicked his horse into a swift gallop.

 

* * *

 

Bard soon found out that Prince Kili of Erebor was quite the conversationalist. When their mounts grew tired, Bard allowed his horse to settle into a slow trot, and the dark haired Dwarf had ridden up and launched into a series of questions about Laketown, about Bard's forge and mostly about the Lonely Mountains and King Thranduil. Bard answered occasionally, but it was soon apparent that Kili didn't need him to. He chatted to a silent Bard and a frowning Fili as their mounts caught their breaths. Kili told him about Tauriel and the lengths he had to go to win her affections while they dismounted to have a quick meal of dry bread and hard cheese. Bard actually smiled a little at his enthusiastic words and obvious pride. Here was a young lad head over heels in love. It seemed that they were quite large in number no matter the species. 

While Kili talked, Bard studied the older sibling. Beside the occasional dry remark aimed at his chatty brother, Fili had remained silent during their ride through the forest. The older prince carried an air of dignity and command while Kili could easily charm the most hostile of encounters with his bright handsome grin and friendly demeanor. They would make quite the pair of diplomats, Bard reckoned. Feeling the Man's curious gaze upon him, Fili looked up and their eyes met, gold upon hazel. Bard blinked when the blond Dwarf reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something before tossing the small round shiny disk over the campfire they'd lit. It tumbled into Bard's lap and reflected the dancing flames upon its smooth metal surface.

It was Bilbo's compass.

Bard flicked the lid open with a thumb and peered down at the jumping needle. It was still dancing madly back and forth between North and South. Snapping it shut with a grunt of annoyance, he dropped it into the dirt.

"It's not broken," Fili said, his golden eyes glowing in the light of the fire. Kili turned to glance at them curiously from his spot by the ponies.

"Seems broken to me," Bard returned stiffly as he burrowed further into his coat. The dim light of the flames illuminated the golden vines upon his coat sleeve and his heart clenched in pain.

_Thranduil. What was he doing right now? Was he equally heartbroken? Or had he forgotten already?_

"It's the compass Uncle gave to Mister Baggins!" Kili's delighted voice broke in and Bard blinked when the young Dwarf plopped down next to him. He flipped the compass expertly into the air and caught it with his other hand. Grinning, Kili flicked open the lid. Bard leaned over to peer curiously at the compass.

The needle pointed to the southwest and settled.

Kili made a pleased noise and blew a light kiss toward that particular direction. Fili rolled his eyes and shook his head. Bard took the compass from Kili's fingers. The needles flew into action once more. He made an angry noise and dropped it back into the young Dwarf's lap.

"It doesn't seem to like me." He said dryly.

"It's not like that," Fili said quietly. "This compass is special. It shows the traveler where their heart lies."

"Heart?" Bard asked incredulously. Kili grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"Exactly what Fee said. Uncle Thorin gave it to Bilbo because he _fancies_ him, but I think they secret fancy each other, so giving Bilbo the compass is like telling Bilbo that he will always be able to find Uncle no matter where he goes," Kili grinned as he confided the secret. Fili rolled his eyes again but failed to comment. His younger brother continued, "My heart is with my Tauriel, thus, the compass shows me where she is at the moment." He smiled and patted the shiny metal lid before handing it over to Bard once more, "Fee hasn't fallen in love so his heart lies with Erebor."

"Where does your heart lie, Master Bard?" Fili called over the fire.

"My children," Bard's answer was immediate, his fingers tight over the warm metal disk in his palm.

"Not all of it," the blond Dwarf commented when Bard slid the case open once more. The needle was still spinning wildly from North to South and back again.

Laketown in the north and the Lonely Mountains in the south.

 _Thranduil_.

Bard's heart skipped a beat.

The bushes to their left rustled suddenly and Bard snapped the compass shut guiltily before sliding it deep into his pocket. Fili drew his blade and sprang to his feet as Kili pulled out his bow and arrows. Bard squinted into the darkness. They should not have lit a fire in these woods, he knew it had been a mistake.

"Kili, Fili! Lower your weapons, it's me." A soft female voice hissed and a second later, the red haired maiden named Tauriel stepped from the shadows.

"Tauriel, my love!" Kili shouted in delight. Tauriel caught him mid-hug and slapped a slender palm over her lover's mouth.

"Shh! Don't draw anymore unwanted attention. I tracked you from miles away, you clumsy brute," she scolded. "What did I tell you about concealing your tracks, Kili?"

While Kili pouted and sulked, she turned her jade green eyes to Bard and smiled, "I don't believe we've been introduced properly, My Lord."

"Not a lord, just a lowly blacksmith named Bard." Bard returned with a small half-hearted quirk of his lips. She smiled almost knowingly. Bard avoided her eyes and went back to his seat by the fire.

"You can untie the ponies and let them wander back to Erebor," Tauriel surprised them all by pulling Bard back up again. "I'm going to fly you there myself. It's much faster." She said.

 

* * *

 

**.:Laketown:.**

" _Step away from the stove, Aragorn_." Aragorn jumped when Sigrid brought the ladle down with a loud thump onto the pot's rim. She raised an eyebrow at him and the older boy smiled sheepishly before backing off. He'd rather singlehandedly take on twenty trolls than face Sigrid's wrath.

"Lord knows what will happen again if I let you ' _cook_ '," Sigrid sighed as she stirred the stew. "Bain! Are the potatoes ready yet?"

Bain groaned from his spot in the corner, wiped at his sweaty forehead with a dirty hand and grabbed another from the pile. "In a minute, Sis! I still have four to peel."

"You said that five minutes ago!" Sigrid complained, "Aragorn, I told you to stay away from the pot."

"I'm not going to poison it," the young man complained.

"Your cooking may as well be poison itself." Sigrid muttered darkly, "go help Bain with his potatoes. Have any of you seen Tilda?"

Aragorn shot the middle Bardling a sympathetic glance as he picked up a potato. As if she'd heard her sister's words, Tilda burst in through the front door with a garland of flowers in her hair and one more clutched between her fingers.

"Is Da back yet? I picked him some flowers." The youngest said eagerly. Bain felt his chest constrict with pain. She was the only one who hadn't given up on the idea that their Da was still going to waltz in the front door unharmed someday.

"Not yet, Tilda," Aragorn said with an encouraging smile. "Soon, though."

"Okay," she returned with a small smile. She slipped the other garland into Aragorn's messy curls. "Let's be fairies together, Aragorn." She said sincerely.

"What a lovely pair of fairies," Bain mocked playfully and was rewarded with a handful of potato peel in the face.

 

* * *

 

Four months. Four endless months since Da had been taken by the dragon. Was he still alive? Bain desperately wished for him to be. Da had asked Aragorn to help take care of them, and normally Bain would have been ecstatic to play with the older boy, but if the price was his Da, then Bain didn't want it.

He tossed and turned in his narrow cot that night thinking about all the scenarios where he could have somehow bravely intervened and saved Da before...

There was a low creaking sound beneath him, followed by some hushed whispering and shuffling. Bain sat up in his cot and listened carefully. Another soft shuffling noise came from beneath. Bain slid out of bed, shook Aragorn awake and went to wake Sigrid while the older boy grabbed them three brooms.

Silently, the three children, armed with various cleaning tools, made their way cautiously down the steps into the damp cellar. There was a dark mass of shadows by the old wine barrels Bard used to put their old fishing gears. Bain took a deep breath and swung his broom with all his might.

" _ **Bain!**_ " A familiar voice hissed in the dark and a moment later, candlelight filled the small cellar. Bain's broom dropped from limp fingers as his eyes landed on the haggard man standing by their old barrels. Everyone froze in disbelief and shock. The eldest Bardling was the first to break out of her shocked trance.

" **DA!** " Sigrid sobbed and raced to him while Bain swayed on the spot. He watched his father embrace a crying Sigrid and press kisses into her hair. He'd stopped kissing the two older Bardlings when an eight-year-old Bain had sat him down for a serious discussion about how old they were and how embarrassing it was. But now, Bain found that he didn't really mind.

"Bain, son," Da called again, his voice heavy with emotions.

That was when Bain snapped into action, racing forward and burrowing into the tight warm familiarity of his father's arms. Warm tears slid down his cheeks and it was only when Sigrid laughed past her choking sobs and hiccups that Bain realized he was crying and his father was kissing his forehead and Aragorn was there to watch Bain cry like a little babe again (he'd been trying so hard to seem badass in front of his older friend). But he shoved the embarrassment aside and squeezed his arms tighter around Da's narrow waist.

"Da?" A small tentative voice called and they all turned to see Tilda standing at the top of the stairs in her pale night dress, rubbing at her eyes and trying to squint into the darkness.

"Come here, my precious baby girl," Da opened his arms and Tilda flew down the steps in a small white blur.

"I missed you so much! I knew you were coming back, Da! I knew!" She cried happily into his neck, her small fists clenched tightly in his tunic. Bain watched as his father's composure finally cracked. He buried his face into her soft brown curls and let the tears flow free. Sigrid stepped forward and hugged their father once more and Bain found himself doing the same, all of them wrapped in one big embrace.

"I'm here, darlings. I'm here." Da whispered gently, and Bain finally allowed himself to relax.

_His father was finally home._


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard sat by Sigrid's bed for a long time after the children finally managed to calm down enough to fall asleep. Tilda's small fingers were wrapped tightly around Bard's left thumb, her head lolling onto Bain's shoulder as she slept. Bard studied them lovingly, taking in every beautiful minute detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bard is finally home. :D 
> 
> I've been really busy preparing for finals and my Gran, who raised me growing up and one of my favorite people in the world, was diagnosed with cancer a few weeks ago. She just had surgery to remove the tumor. But as long as there is hope, I am praying for her full recovery. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and leave me some love. Barduil is losing people. :( OH AND PLEASE READ THE END NOTE.

Bard sat by Sigrid's bed for a long time after the children finally managed to calm down enough to fall asleep. Tilda's small fingers were wrapped tightly around Bard's left thumb, her head lolling onto Bain's shoulder as she slept. Bard studied them lovingly, taking in every beautiful minute detail.

"They're still waiting down by the cellar, Bard." Aragorn's soft voice pulled Bard from his thoughts and he looked up to see the young hunter standing silently by the doorway.

"Thank you, Aragorn. I'm afraid I need you to watch over them a bit longer. I have one last thing to do before I can come back and stay for good." Bard gently slid his hand from Tilda's, leaned down and pressed a soft tender kiss against her soft curls and stood.

"I will do everything to keep them safe," Aragorn promised solemnly. They clasped hands briefly and Bard glanced back longingly at the sleeping children one last time before slipping into the night.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," he apologized softly when he saw the three dark figures standing by the water. Kili drew his fingers from the water and stood hurriedly when Bard approached. The blacksmith fought down a smile.

"You have beautiful children, Master Bard," Tauriel said with a gentle smile. Bard smiled back as he tucked a length of rope into his belt and shouldered his pack.

"Shall we head to Dale then, milady?" He asked.

 

* * *

 

Riding on Tauriel's back was vastly different from flying with Legolas, Bard had noted on the trip back to Laketown and again on the way to Dale. Tauriel was an experienced flyer. She barely dipped or swooped and her ruby red scales were thick enough for Bard to latch onto with his gloved fingers. Bard hardly felt her landing, whereas Legolas would thump down on the ground hard enough for Bard's groin to ache. Even though he liked her, he seemed to prefer Legolas over Tauriel when it came to flying.

"So this is the Ghost City?" Kili whispered excitedly when their feet touched the damp earth. Bard swiped a hand over his frozen face in an attempt to rub feeling back into the numb flesh.

Dale glistened crystal sharp in the cold moonlight, ghostly shafts of pale silver stabbing through the roofs of the abandoned cottages and homes. A fresh layer of undisturbed snow lay like fine sugar at their feet. Around them, the Ghost City of Dale towered like a dark silent giant, expectant and thrumming with a faint hint of danger. Bard took a deep breath and stepped through the tall archway, leaving a clear trail of footprints.

"Aye, welcome to Dale," he said dryly.

"So where is the Arkenstone?" Fili asked as they trekked through the silent streets.

Dale had been built in very limited space and because of the lack of space, the city had built upward. Bard squinted up into the clear dark sky and pointed to a distant glow high up in the inky canvass of the night sky.

"There's the main sentry tower up at the top of the city, it used to serve as a beacon, see that bright light up there? That's not a star," he explained. "I reckon Lord Girion placed the stone up in that tower, hidden in plain sight."

Kili's mouth dropped. "We have to climb that tower?" The sentry tower was way too old to support Tauriel's weight and Bard had a hunch that the stairs would have rotted away by now.

Catching Kili's reluctant eyes, Bard smiled mirthlessly. "No, my Prince, _I_ shall climb it." He said as he pulled out the length of rope.

 

* * *

 

When he was a small wide-eyed child, Bard used to climb all sorts of things for fun, trees, cliffs, statues, neighbor's homes... His mother had forbidden him from scaling up walls like a ferret when he'd spotted the wine seller's son kissing the butcher's wife one day and townsfolk had started to hire him to spy on their prospective targets. Of course that had been before the dragon destroyed his home and killed his parents.

Climbing came naturally to him, as easy as breathing. Unlike others, Bard had always felt safer in the air and over water than on land. He relished the gradual burn in his muscles as he took step after step upward, occasionally having to figure out where was safest to put his hands and feet. The rope held firm in his gloved fingers as Bard made his way up the tower. Cold air swept through his messy curls. Underneath him, Dale seemed to hold its breath alongside the trio waiting down below.

With one last burst of energy, Bard heaved himself up onto the top platform just in time to narrowly avoid the crude battle axe aimed at his head. The Orc roared and made to hit him again. Bard's body reacted unconsciously, twisting to the side and using his momentum to send the monster over the banister. He heard several gasps and a loud thump. Behind Bard the other Orc charged him with an ugly bludgeon. Bard drew his black blade and hurled it, the sharp metal sinking easily into the Orc's armored chest. He kicked it aside after pulling his weapon from its lifeless body. Bard's heart raced a mile a minute in his chest. He had not expected to find Orcs atop the sentry tower.

"Are you alright, Bard?" Tauriel yelled up, but Bard was at a loss for words.

The tower rose high into the sky, and below him, Bard could make out small orange campfires and moving figures scattered amongst the barren trees. Tens, hundreds of orange dots. Orcs, goblins and larger dots that Bard guessed were trolls. Realization dawned heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach.

_This was an army._

"Bard? What's taking so long? Why was there an Orc up there?" Fili called impatiently.

He ran to the edge of the platform and peered down at the three of them. " _Shhhhh!!!_ There is an army of orcs, goblins and trolls in the forest north of Dale!"

Bard raced back to the statue at the center of the platform. Lord Girion's handsome features were forever engraved in stone, his hands held high above his head, the ghost light beacon Bard had seen for years in the distance glowing like a miniature star in his palms. The Arkenstone was spotless despite being constantly exposed to the elements up in the tower. The blacksmith had to admit, the stone did seem to hold some sort of terrible beauty, but he did not find it appealing. Bard tried in futile to pry the Arkenstone from the statue's stone hands. It didn't budge. Cursing under his breath, he glanced about and spotted the orc's bludgeon lying on the ground. Picking up the heavy weapon and muttering a quick apology to his ancestors above, Bard swung.

 

* * *

 

"There are _hundreds upon thousands_ of Orcs camped in the forest north of Dale," Bard gasped breathlessly when his feet touched the ground. He tossed the bundled up Arkenstone into Fili's arms and bent down to catch his breath.

"Orcs? They are on the move once more?" Tauriel's face was pale and tense at the unexpected news.

Bard wiped at his sweaty forehead, "I must go back to Laketown to warn the Master! I-"

"You broke off Girion's _hands?!_ " Fili's bewildered voice interrupted. The three of them peered down at the stone fingers still clutched around the Arkenstone. Kili snorted in amusement and Bard shrugged dismissively.

"The stone wouldn't budge and I was running out of time, we have to leave _now_. Their night sentries will have noticed the beacon's light is gone and send someone to investigate."

"Very well, thank you Master Bard of Laketown. You have done our kind an immense favor." Fili said regally after an awkward pause.

"You're welcome, now let's go. I have to warn Laketown. We're not prepared for such a large army of orcs."

"Right then," Fili nodded, "Kee and Tauriel will return to Erebor with the Arkenstone after we drop you off in Laketown. As a show of our gratitude to you, I shall remain with you. Kili will bring reinforcement, or whatever number of Dwarves he can persuade with that tongue of his."

Bard was at a loss for words.

"Do you mean to say that you will _aid us_ in protecting Laketown?" He finally asked in wonder. The Golden Prince of Erebor turned to face him with a determined expression on his handsome face.

"You are a noble man worthy of your linage, Bard of Laketown. And as much as my uncle and that foolish old dragon in the mountain would object, the Evil in the north is once again on the rise," Fili looked at them all grimly. "I grew up on tales of the legendary pact between Men, Dwarves and Dragons and was saddened to see it gone. I may not live up to what my uncle once were, but I can do _this_." At these words, the Dwarven prince extended his open hand toward Bard in the universal language of welcome. "We need to put aside out differences and unite together to fend off the darkness. So do you say, Leader of Man?"

Bard was silent for a long moment before he spoke carefully. "I am not my ancestor nor am I the leader of anything, Master Fili. I do not command the ranks of Men, but if you're looking for a friend and an ally in times of need, then yes, I will gladly accept."

He clasped forearms with the young prince while Tauriel covered her mouth with her hand to hide her delighted smile.

Kili gave his sibling a determined nod as he took Tauriel's hand in his. "Tauriel and I will do everything we can to help, Fee. Although I do have the feeling that Uncle will have a stroke when he finds out."

 

* * *

 

"I remember your house being in that direction," Fili pointed out softly when Bard passed the turning. Tauriel and Kili had set off for Erebor just as the first rays of sunlight began to turn the sky pink at the edges. It was nearly dawn by the time Bard and Fili slipped into Laketown. Bard had drawn up his hood to avoid unwanted attention, but judging by the soft murmuring around him, he was already doing so.

"We must warn the Master before the orcs reach Laketown," Bard said. "Dale is but a few days ride away. Even if they only move at night, we still don't have much time to put up a decent defense."

The Master of Laketown resided in a towering yet crooked house near the town hall. When Bard pounded his fist upon the dirty door, it was Alfrid who answered, first looking as if he'd seen a ghost then slowly slipping into one of the most smug expressions Bard had ever seen on his nasty face.

"Well well well, if it isn't the damsel in distress. How did you get back, Bard? Was your flesh too rancid for the mighty dragon to consume?" He goaded as Bard shoved him aside impatiently and made for the filthy staircase leading toward the second floor. Fili sidestepped Alfrid and followed quickly.

When Bard burst into the room, the Master was halfway immersed in a murky bath, his white bloated body bobbing about in the dirty water. He made a high-pitched shriek of shock when he saw Bard standing at the door and struggled to cover himself, sloshing foamy water all over the floor as he wriggled.

"Wha-what are you doing back?!" The Master gasped.

"I escaped from the dragon and I came to warn you," Bard said quickly. "Orcs are coming from the north, thousands of them. We must rally our forces and be prepared for them when they strike."

"Escaped? Orcs? _Strike?!_ " The Master was blubbering like a landed trout, his fat chin bobbing and trembling like a live thing. "We must hide, we must take out valuables and flee! We-"

"Flee where?" Bard demanded, "winter is coming, we have limited supplies and many mouths to feed. We won't stand a chance out there. The best chance is to try and defend ourselves against the Orc army."

Fili nodded at his side and the Master's pale watery eyes landed on the young Dwarf for the first time. "I am a prince of Erebor and Bard's friend. I have asked my people to send for our armies. Together we can defeat them and send the evil back to where it came from."

"Don't be absurd, you can't make an army out of those mangy curs," An ugly sneer crossed the Master's face. "The villagers don't know about the orcs, do they Bard? I will have the time to gather the things I need and make my retreat. It's bloody time I abandoned this bloody town anyway." He struggled to rise from the tub.

"You mean to leave them to the mercy of the orcs?" Bard asked quietly. He had never felt more contemptuous of the weak fat man in front of him than ever before. "Have you no conscience?"

"If it weren't for _you_ , there would be no attack! You ran away from the dragon, and now the orcs are here to attack us! You led them to Laketown!" Alfrid was shrieking and jabbing his finger at Bard, spittle flying from his lips. The Master narrowed his small eyes at Bard.

"Yes, but you did arrive in the nick of time. For we shall shift the blame onto you and your small companion, Bard." He twirled his mustache contemplatively. "And to keep you from spreading the news and causing unnecessary panic, you shall be locked up in the cells! Guards! Come at once! Seize the traitors from my chambers!"

There was a clattering of feet upon floorboards and in an instant, they were surrounded by five weary faced Laketown men with crude pitchforks and swords. With a smug triumphant gleam in his small watery eyes, the Master turned to the door.

"Goodbye, Bard. It's _so good_ to have you back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS NOTE: I have two versions of the plot right now, one is shorter and quicker to finish. Smaug doesn't get killed. The fic ends before that. The other is a bit longer, and a more rounded storyline, and Smaug gets shot in the face *shrug*. Do you guys still want to read that far into this silly piece? Please tell me, otherwise I will probably update really slowly (while trying to figure out how to continue writing this) THX


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is Da back yet? Is Da back yet? Is Da back yet?" Tilda chanted over and over again in her spot by the kitchen table. Sigrid sighed and dropped her stitchings.
> 
> "No, Tilda. Not yet. Please stop, you're giving me a headache."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely and supportive comments, they really helped me get over the difficult situations in my life. I really hope things will be better from now on.
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter, I will have the rest out soon. :) Thran should be back in the next chapter? Maybe?
> 
> Happy weekend, and leave me some love guys. :)

"Is Da back yet? Is Da back yet? Is Da back yet?" Tilda chanted over and over again in her spot by the kitchen table. Sigrid sighed and dropped her stitchings.

"No, Tilda. Not yet. Please stop, you're giving me a headache."

Tilda pouted and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "But I miss him. Did I hallucinate Da coming back last night? Did you let Aragorn touch the soup?"

"No, Aragorn did not touch the soup. Truth be told, I can't even be sure it wasn't a dream." She confessed absently. Sigrid sighed and peered out the window at the oddly empty street.

When she woke, Aragorn had given them a brief explanation before he'd been called out of the house by one of their neighbors. He'd been out ever since. Even more strangely, Bain had also disappeared to "help" with what what going on. The atmosphere in Laketown was tense and as the sky blackened into a dark foreboding grey, Sigrid couldn't help but suspect that something terrible was brewing.

The first drops of rain created an odd whispering sound as they landed upon the small town. Tilda peered out of the rain-blurred windows at the darkness beyond, her small face unusually serious and drawn.

"Is everything alright, Sig?" She asked anxiously, tugging gently on her elder sister's sleeve.

"It will be," Sigrid promised as she pressed a comforting kiss atop Tilda's forehead. They sat in the quiet house and listened to the loud drumming of rain against their thin roof.

Sigrid had almost fallen asleep when the sound of heavy footfalls echoed outside their house, followed by a deafening crack as the door split down the middle. She didn't have time to do more than pull Tilda behind her before the hideous goblin stepped inside, it's yellow eyes landing on the two girls with vicious intent.

It raised an axe the size of Tilda's waist and Sigrid flew into action without thinking. She grabbed the nearest chair and shoved it toward the goblin with all her might, pulling a screaming Tilda behind her as she ran for the kitchen. The chair split under the goblin's weapon like a child's toy. Sigrid grabbed the still bubbling stew they'd left out for their father in case he came back and poured the steaming hot contents onto the goblin's bald head. It shrieked in pain and she brought the pot down upon the back of its head over and over again, mindless of the hot metal rim searing angry red welts into her palms.

"Sig, stop! It's dead, please stop!" Tilda's loud shriek made her drop the mangled pot and cradle her blistering fingers to her chest with a hiss of pain. Sigrid looked up to see two more monstrous creature step in through their mangled door, malicious snarls on their ugly faces. Outside their house, the air had filled with the sound of screams and the scent of fire.

"Tilda, run! I'll try to hold them back," Sigrid said, trying to keep her voice steady. She closed her eyes and reached for the kitchen knife.

Her eyes flew open at the piercing scream just in time to see the tip of a blade withdraw from one of the goblin's chests. It toppled over and the mysterious stranger slammed a short gleaming dagger into the skull of the other goblin. In less than four seconds, both monsters were dead. There was a small tense silence while Sigrid struggled not to drop their bread knife with her wounded fingers and tried in vain to see past the stranger's dark hood.

"Sigrid, daughter of Bard?" A soft voice said and gloved hands reached up to pull the hood back and reveal golden hair and a handsome face. Their rescuer stepped neatly over the dead goblin lying on the kitchen floor and Sigrid realized what was so odd about him. He only reach her shoulder in height, yet his appearance seemed to be fully adult.

"Your father sent me to retrieve you and your sister," he said crisply. "We should go, now."

"You haven't told me your name yet," Sigrid said in a steady voice that even took herself by surprise. The short stranger stopped and turned to face her again. He studied her with serious golden eyes, and Sigrid felt a trickle of cold sweat slide down her spine.

"My name is Fili, I am a dwarf from Erebor and your father's friend," he said before focusing his attention to a point past Sigrid's shoulder. "We should leave now," he said in that same soft mellow tone to Tilda, who was standing by the stairs.

"How can we trust you?" The youngest Bardling asked. Fili regarded them with barely veiled impatience, Sigrid could tell, but he took her by surprise when he sighed and instead of shouting at her, he walked over to Tilda, who at the age of five barely reached his chest.

"You mean the world to your father," he said, placing one gentle hand over her shoulder. "I gave my word that I would see you safely to his side, I mean to keep them, child. No matter what happens, I swear to protect you with my life."

"Promise?" Tilda asked again.

He nodded solemnly. "Promise, now we have to leave this place."

Fili turned to the door and peered out of the wrecked frame while Sigrid pulled on her boots, hissing at the pain in her fingers. She kept their largest bread knife (quite sharp) in her dress, the heavy weight of it more comforting that alarming as she stood. The Dwarf was watching her with an odd expression on his face. Scowling, Sigrid tucked loose curls behind her ears and tried not to tear up at the pain. After an awkward pause, he walked back to her and held out one broad hand.

"May I, my lady?" He asked quietly. Sigrid started at the title. No one had ever called her "my lady" before. She hesitated before sliding her palm into his. His fingers were surprisingly gentle when he applied the ointment he pulled out of his tunic onto her burnt skin. Tilda wordlessly handed him some clean bandages when she found them in Da's room, and with deft movement, Fili bound her wounds in under three minutes.

"Thank you," Sigrid said quietly, breathing an inner sigh of relief as the sharp pain slowly faded to a dull throbbing.

"You're welcome," he returned. "Let's go."

 

* * *

 

Aragorn pulled his arrow from the troll's eye socket with a sickening squelch. Grimacing, he wiped it on his wet breeches and squinted up through the rain. Bright tongues of flames licked at the destroyed houses as cries of pain and sorrow rose like the howls of the demented.

Things had been fine that morning when Aragorn had gone out for supplies. But when he and Bain had overheard the villagers talking about the Master locking Bard away, things had taken a turn for the worse. Breaking Bard out had seemed like a piece of cake when the orcs, goblins and trolls arrived in Laketown. The Master was nowhere to be found, the town was on fire and villagers lay dead around them. Bard's companion had left to find the girls while Bain had gone off to fetch them more weapons.

"Aragorn! The town healer's house is on fire, you need to see if his three girls are still alive!" Bard shoved a goblin away from himself and Aragorn put an arrow between its eyes. The healer's wife gave them a grateful smile past her tears as Bard quickly ushered her into the temporary shelter he'd erected in the forge. Aragorn nodded quickly and made his way past the screaming crowd, occasionally taking down a few enemies along the way.

The healer's house, seated at the edge of town and overflowing with herbs and plants, burned quietly in the soft rain. Aragorn felt a sinking feeling in his chest when he arrived. He kicked down the door and tried to squint past the smoke and heat, but the house was quiet. Coughing, he retreated and made his way around the house for an alternate way in. A curious rustling caught his attention and Aragorn turned just in time to see a flash of gold disappear into a nearby bush. He tightened his grip on his weapon and approached cautiously.

"Who's there?"

There was more rustling and what sounded like heated whispering before one of the healer's daughters poked her small head out of the foliage.

"We're here, Aragorn." She called and he dropped his sword in relief.

All three girls were unharmed as far as he could tell, only minor burns in their clothes and utterly smeared soot. He was however, surprised to find a small boy roughly Bain's age with his arms wrapped protectively around the smallest girl. His long sleek blond hair was soaked through and filled with small twigs and dried leaves and he was also missing a shirt.

"And you are?" Aragorn asked apprehensively. The small boy turned his bright piercing blue eyes on him and opened his mouth to-

"This is Legolas! He saved us, Aragorn! Legolas wasn't afraid of the fire, he made it back off!" The smallest of the girls squealed excitedly. The boy seemed nervous at her words, but he did not speak.

"Thank you," Aragorn said politely, "if you hadn't been here..."

"Do you know Bard? Where is he?" Legolas suddenly interrupted.

Aragorn blinked, "uh, yes. He's fending off the rest of the monsters with the other available men. I have to get these girls to the shelter, their mother is worried sick."

"Can I go with you? I have to find him." Legolas's face was determined and grim.

"Sure, if you want." Aragorn said with a puzzled frown. He picked up the two younger girls and motioned for Legolas to follow.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons attack Laketown, and Thranduil sets out to retrieve what he has lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thran's back! Poor Bard's working his ass off trying to protect the whole town while Thranduil is lying on his mountain of gold like the diva he is and contemplating why love sucks in general. 
> 
> That's the real summary of this chappie. 
> 
> Enjoy and leave me some love! :)

"Sigrid?"

"Here," his oldest held up her hand next to Fili.

"Bain?"

"Da, I'm here."

"And Tilda," Bard breathed a sigh of relief as he picked his youngest child up and squeezed her tight. He nodded gratefully to Fili, who inclined his head from across the room. He gathered his family close and took a deep steadying breath. They'd fought off the orcs and goblins, but Bard could not get rid of the feeling that something more terrible was on its way.

"Are we going to be okay, Da?" Tilda tugged on Bard's sleeve, drawing his attention back to her.

"I don't know, love. But I will protect you with my life." Bard pressed a comforting kiss atop her head and looked around. His fellow villagers huddled around him in small groups, some whispering and crying softly for the dead. Bard's heart clenched at the sight.

A knock sounded upon the door of their temporary shelter and tense silence fell over the room. Bard pulled out his sword and made his way cautiously toward the door. He pulled it open to reveal Aragorn, wet and dirty, his arms full of children. The healer's wife cried out and rushed to embrace her children.

Bard nodded gratefully at the young man and Aragorn returned the gesture, stepping aside to reveal another child hidden behind him, pale blond, fair-skinned and blue-eyed, practically drowning in what looked like Aragorn's ratty old coat.

To Bard's bewilderment, the child uttered a loud cry of excitement and ran to him, skinny arms coming up to wrap tightly around Bard's narrow waist. The blacksmith stumbled sideways from the force of the unexpected hug, his arm wrapping around the strange boy's shoulders.

"Whoa, steady there, young one." Bard said softly and bent down to study the blond child curiously. He looked Bain's age, but there was something achingly familiar about him. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"And who might you be?" Bard asked gently.

"Legolas, I came to apologize for Ada, because he won't do it himself." The blond child's face was solemn.

Speechless with shock, Bard stared down at the child. Legolas's smile faded a little at that and he looked down nervously.

"Ada won't eat or drink, he's just lying there. Bilbo tried to talk him into coming after you, but he won't listen. I know he misses you, so I used the wing supports you made me and came to apologize for him..." He twisted his pale fingers nervously.

"I-" Bard swept an unsteady hand over his face and swallowed. "Uh, you can turn into human form as well?"

Legolas seemed relieved at the question. He glanced down at his dirty appearance and frowned. "Yes, but I have trouble making clothes appear. I had to steal a pair of pants when I got here." Legolas confessed sheepishly and Aragorn coughed loudly behind him.

"I, you, but that means you-" Bard looked a bit dizzy. "You're Thranduil's son?"

Legolas nodded guiltily.

Bard opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, something smashed through the roof over their heads, sending sharp wood splinters flying every which way. He shielded Legolas from the worst of the projectiles while Aragorn pulled Tilda close. Bain shook dust from his hair and coughed as the air settled. The thing that had punched through the ceiling was still smoking faintly in the center of the room, giving off the strong wretched stench of burning flesh. When Bard moved closer, he saw that it was the half-charred remains of a massive Orc, its crude armor half-melted and fused to its body.

Realization dawned in one horrifying moment.

Bard whirled around just as a bright red-hot pillar of fire came in through the hole.

" **DRAGON!** "

 

* * *

 

It had been centuries since Man walked in Thranduil's halls.

Dragons were solitary creatures and did not trust easily. Once, however briefly, they had coexisted alongside Men and other creatures and Thranduil had befriended the Man that would later come to be the Lord of Dale. Together, they defended their world from the evils of the North. But those days were long past and with Man's growing fear of the giant winged beasts that roamed the sky and his own aching weariness, Thranduil had withdrawn into the quiet peaceful solitude of his mountains.

Thranduil did not know what had prompted him to snatch Bard. He did not particularly enjoy or dislike their company. Men had such short lives, mere seconds compared to the seemingly endless lifespan of a dragon, and because of their short lifespan, it was common knowledge not to get attached to such fleeting things. But a part of him that had lain dormant for centuries stirred and woke at the fierce fire in those hazel-brown eyes when Bard stared him down in that small village, his arrow trained steadily at Thranduil's head. There was no fear, only a steady determination to protect.

He supposed, in the beginning, he'd only wanted to teach Bard a lesson by taking him from his home. Thranduil had no plans to cook or eat him (or virgins) like the Man seemed to think, much to his amusement. Dragons who were mad enough to consume manflesh were forever cursed to become mindless beasts, incapable of transforming into their human shapes ever again, and Thranduil rather liked his silks and wine.

He had been perfectly willing to let the Man run amok in his mountains as long as Bard did not disturb his sleep. The plus side was that Legolas would be distracted and thus Thranduil would have a few hours of peace and quiet. What he hadn't anticipated was for his son to completely go over to the human's side, following the Man like an over-eager white shadow all day long. He hadn't hear Legolas call him 'Ada' in a long while and Thranduil had felt a strange agitation at that, a need to find out exactly what was going on behind his back.

When he'd finally tracked them down, it was to find the human soaked through in blood, his blade embedded in the spider that was about to sink its fangs into Legolas. It was a foolish gesture as Legolas's scales were impenetrable, but he had been surprised.

In Thranduil's eyes, Men were sly creatures who caused destruction wherever they went. They lied, pillaged and polluted. But this particular Man, strange as he was, wore his heart proudly on his sleeve for all to see and had readily offered up his own life to rescue a dragon. Foolish, yes, but his curiosity had been roused.

Thranduil could not recall when his curiosity morphed into something else entirely, something strange. Perhaps it had been the sight of his son, thought to have been forever grounded by that cruel act twenty years ago, flying free in the bright cloudless blue sky with the aid of Bard's odd invention. Perhaps it had been the sound of the Man's voice under the starry sky, roughed by wine and warm with laughter. Or perhaps, Thranduil had simply been alone for too long.

He had _fallen_ , in a way he promised he would never fall again.

"I know you're proud, Thranduil," Bilbo had said when they got back to the mountains, "but do not let pride destroy something you love."

Love was such a strange notion for Dragons. They mated only once in their lifetime, the sole purpose of which was to procreate and ensure the survival of the species. There was affection yes, but Thranduil did not understand love.

When he told Bilbo that, the small Hobbit only sighed and smiled in a sad wistful way. "Oh, but you already do, my King. It hurts, does it not?"

Those words had haunted him relentlessly, and Thranduil found himself unable to simply put them aside and bury himself under his mountain of gold. The stupid Man had cast a strange spell upon the Dragon King and the pain of losing him could not be dispersed until Thranduil acted. He would go to Laketown and retrieve his heart's desire even if he had to burn down the entire town to do it.

_Yes, that was it._

Mind made, the large white dragon rose from his mountain of gold and took off in the direction of Laketown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the dragon that attacked Bard's village isn't Thranduil. *wiggles eyebrow*


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had no time to think. The roof of the shelter collapsed under the liquid heat of the flames just as Aragorn carried Tilda out the door. A thick burning pillar dropped to the floor, blocking the exit. Bain was coughing violently beside him, his pale face streaked with tears and soot. Bard pulled him close and waited for the burning heat of death to descend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some adjustments to Smaug's color. He's a black dragon in this AU. :) 
> 
> Also, a quick note on the color of dragon flames. When a dragon has not consumed Man flesh, its flames are usually light colored, or blue, like Thran's. But after munching on humans, they lose the ability to transform and the color deepens with the number of people the dragon eats. (It's a CURSE, oooohhh!) So Smaug has definitely been a bad bad dragon. 
> 
> Enjoy! Leave me some love!

He had no time to think. The roof of the shelter collapsed under the liquid heat of the flames just as Aragorn carried Tilda out the door. A thick burning pillar dropped to the floor, blocking the exit. Bain was coughing violently beside him, his pale face streaked with tears and soot. Bard pulled him close and waited for the burning heat of death to descend.

But it never came.

Bard could hear the distant crackle of fire eating away at the timbers, but-

He opened his eyes when Bain screamed.

Legolas, who had transformed in the nick of time, had spread his wings around them, shielding the two humans from the burning flames. The fire licked harmlessly at his gleaming white scales.

"It's okay, Bain, stop!" Bard grasped his panicking son and shook him hard. "Legolas is a friend." His son stared up at him as if he'd gone mad, but Bard had no time to explain.

"Legolas, we have to search for survivors!" Bard shouted as they burst through the collapsing building and into the rain slicked street. He looked up into the sky and saw a yellow-brown dragon gliding amongst the clouds, occasional flashes of orange giving away its position. Bard knew they had to chase it off, or more people were going to die. He spotted Aragorn in the distance, hurrying villagers up into a flimsy boat.

"TAKE BAIN AND TILDA AND LEAVE! FIND SIGRID AND FILI!" Bard shouted at the young man.

"WHAT ABOUT YOU?" Aragorn shouted back.

Bard turned to see Legolas pull another writhing villager from the burning shelter. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath.

"I'm going to _shoot it down_." He said.

 

* * *

 

With Legolas's help, Bard made his way back to the forge in record time. The door was destroyed and everything had been ransacked, but when he twisted the hidden compartment in the back of the wardrobe and pulled the hatch open, his best longbow and a quiver of sharp arrows were still there. Hefting the heavy weapon into his hands, Bard turned to Legolas.

"I'm afraid you cannot come with me, Legolas. What I am about to do is very dangerous and you are just a child." He said, reaching up to pat the young dragon's neck affectionately. Bard swallowed and huffed out a soft bitter laugh. "Tell your father, tell Thranduil, I forgive him, for everything that's happened."

Legolas whined restlessly and tried to nose at Bard's cheek, slathering the blacksmith with wet spittle. Bard closed his eyes and wrapped his arms tightly around the small dragon's neck. Legolas's scales were warm and smooth against his skin. "I'm glad I met you, Legolas. I really am."

He took a steady breath and pulled away. "Goodbye, child. Wait until it is safe to go out."

Then, squaring his shoulders, Bard turned and made his way for Laketown's tallest sentry tower.

 

* * *

 

He supposed that this was the heroic way to die, Bard thought as he pulled himself up into the rafters, taking two steps at a time. The world around him was encased in red hot flame so bright it made his eyes water. His longbow was a comfortable weight against his back with the quiver pressed close into his side. This was what he was meant to do, to follow in the steps of his ancestor, to protect and save.

Air was significantly harder to breath with the acrid stench of burning wood and flesh. Bard struggled his way up the last few flights of stairs, his heart pounding and small black dots dancing in his vision.

Across town, the yellow-brown dragon was busy spewing fire from its open mouth, large sharp claws digging into the crumbling houses. Screams and shouts filled the air.

Bard slammed all his weight against the ancient bell in the sentry tower. The bell rang loud and clear, the sound easily carrying over the chaos below. In the distance, Bard saw, as if in a dream, the dragon lift its ugly yellow head to look in his direction. Red eyes focused on him as Bard pulled his longbow from his back with one fluid motion. The weapon felt familiar and sure in his hands, and Bard's fingers were steady as he notched the first arrow.

_Had Lord Girion felt fear when he faced the raging beasts that destroyed Dale?_

Bard felt no fear. Instead, clarity settled like a gentle mantle upon his shoulders. This was what he had been born to do, facing down dragons and saving people. He let the arrow fly, trusting years of experience and muscle memory to keep his aim true. The sharp head bounced off of the dragon's chest, leaving no visible mark, but the damage had been done, Bard noted with grim satisfaction. He had successfully caught the dragon's attention, and it was making its way toward him, the giant bat-like leathery wings on its back propelling the beast into the air as it slowly drew nearer.

"Come on, you _winged worm_! Come and get me!" Bard shot another arrow at the thing, this one bouncing off of its snout. The dragon blinked and made an odd snuffling sound, smoke billowing from its nostrils. Then it roared in anger and shot forward, huge red mouth agape.

Bard took aim and shot, clipping the side of its mouth. He felt dread settle heavily in his stomach as the beast drew nearer and nearer. He had no legendary wind lance or black arrow, all Bard had was his old longbow and determination to protect his fellow Men.

_He was going to die._

The dragon whipped past the sentry tower, and its tail lashed out, sending a shower of wood splinters and debris flying into Bard's unprotected face. The blacksmith ducked out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed by the heavy bell as it smashed its way through the wooden floorboards. The roof of the sentry tower fell into the dark water below with a loud splash.

It was toying with him, Bard realized with a spike of dread. Like a cat toying with a mouse before killing it.

He scrambled to more solid ground, wincing at the unexpected pain on his face. A quick swipe of his fingers came away bloody. Bard realized he must have scraped his cheek against the rough surface of the floor when he'd leapt aside.

He reached for his bow only to find the weapon broken in half, a rough splintering break right in the middle. Choking panic resurfaced almost immediately. Was he going to die like this? Helpless and weaponless? Like a coward?

_Like Girion?_

No, he would not face death on his knees.

With the support of the pillar next to him, Bard struggled upright and turned to face the approaching dragon. He would look the beast in the eyes when he died.

 _"I do not fear you!"_ He shouted at the wretched thing.

An answering shriek came from below and Bard started as a familiar white shape emerged, crawling and hopping quickly up the collapsing sentry tower.

"Legolas, what are you doing here? I told you to run!" Bard yelled in frustration as Legolas moved toward him.

"No, you have to go! You have leave now, Legolas _please!_ " Bard pushed at the small dragon with all his might, but the child stubbornly held his ground. Legolas wrapped his wings tightly around Bard's shoulders and made a sad little trilling sound, his scaly head coming to rest atop Bard's messy curls. Bard stopped struggling and slumped forward. He knew it was futile to argue when Legolas had made up his mind. He was every bit as stubborn as his father.

" _I'm so sorry, Legolas_." Bard whispered against Legolas's beating heart and closed his eyes.

Perhaps it was of small comfort, to die in the company of someone he loved. He only wished he'd gotten to say a proper goodbye to his children and Aragorn.

And Thranduil. To apologize for everything and tell the arrogant git that he _loved_ -

An enraged roar split the night sky, the sound so loud Bard felt it vibrate within his bones, a sound that was odd familiar...

Above him, Legolas lifted his head and made a series of excited clicks. Bard struggled out of the small dragon's grip and turned around.

Lit by the demonic light of the red flames around him, the huge white dragon glowed like a fallen star as he descended up the brown dragon, sharp claws fastening around the other's neck. The brown one roared and twisted madly about, destroying houses and spitting flames in every direction in its attempts to escape. The white dragon sank sharp teeth into the brown dragon's neck, pining it down with heavy wings.

" _Thranduil!_ " Bard cried out, his heart leaping to his throat at the sight of the two beasts locked together in fierce battle. The brown dragon was no match against Thranduil, who was larger and heavier in size. Thranduil's blue flames seemed to cause the other dragon pain, for it gave a shrill shriek and struggled out from beneath the larger white dragon, beat its wings twice and flew into the air.

Thranduil was about to pursue when the clouds above them shifted suddenly, the light of the moon winking out and throwing Laketown into darkness. Bard felt the hairs on the nape of his neck rise. The world seemed to have gone silent.

And then something sleek and pitch black collided with Thranduil, sending him stumbling sideways. Bard saw the black dragon rise out of the smoke, dark crimson flames glowing like blood in its mouth as it spread its wings, the same set of wings that had blocked out the moon on the night Bard's parents were killed.

_It was finally here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thran's finally here! Too bad Smaug is also here. :P


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something soft and light landed on Bard's dirty cheek, a single feathery touch that soon melted into cold blissful nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and such a short chapter! I had some trouble finding time to write. Leave me a comment!

Something soft and light landed on Bard's dirty cheek, a single feathery touch that soon melted into cold blissful nothingness. Bard opened his eyes to snowflakes as large as goose feathers. The world was pure white around him with the occasional spot of color. The fallen snow made it appear almost as if the attack hadn't happened and the dragons had not come.

The dragons.

Bard was awake in an instant. He shifted his fingers and pain blossomed up his left arm like thick hot molasses, making his eyes water. He was lying facedown upon the crumpled remains of Laketown's sentry tower, a thin blanket of snow covering him from head to toe. Bard rolled onto his back with a soft hiss, brought his injured arm up to his chest and peered around. His broken bow was sticking up crookedly from a pile of wood, the sharp tip of an arrow barely visible from under the snow. Did it always snow after the dragons came? Or did the snow come from the ashes of their deadly flames falling from the sky?

He recalled angering the yellow-brown dragon, shooting at it from atop the burning tower and later the fearsome black one that Thranduil had grappled with in the thundering clouds above Laketown. Bard remembered sticking both ends of his broken bow into the ruts in supports and lodging an arrow deep into one of the black dragon's eyes, and the horrible roar, the dark red flames that Thranduil had shielded him from, pain exploding from his arm when the spiked black tail lashed out and whipped him out of the collapsing tower, Legolas diving after him, more pain and then finally darkness.

Raising his head with difficulty, Bard called out to the small dragon and was rewarded with an answering shout followed by soft gentle hands upon his chest. Legolas, face streaked with dust and grime, his hair in a frizzled rat's nest around his face and electric blue eyes wide, peered down at him in relief. Bard swiped at the soot on the boy's nose with a thumb and ended up coughing until he tasted blood in the back of his throat. Blinking back the black dots in front of his eyes, Bard allowed the small boy to pull him into a sitting position, and from there, he willed his body to stand. He made it to the remains of a splintered tree and threw up, noting with a hint of detached worry that there was more blood than food. Legolas was eyeing him with clear apprehension. Bard wiped at his mouth and spat.

"Survivors?" He choked out, voice hoarse and tired beyond recognition.

"They're at the outskirts, by the shore." The small boy said, catching Bard when he listed dangerously to the side. "The children are there as well," he added, as if he himself was not counted among them. In a way, he supposed Legolas was right.

"Thranduil?" was Bard's next question. Legolas bit his lip and shook his head.

"I don't know, there was so much smoke and fire, I don't know where Father went."

Bard squeezed the boy's hand comfortingly and assured him Thranduil would be fine. He had to be. Bard could think of no other alternative.

His left arm was broken for sure. The skin around his wrist was an angry motley purple and swollen twice its usual size, but it seemed to be a clean break. With Legolas's help, Bard tore off a length of his trouser leg and bound his hand in a crude makeshift splint. Bard wrenched a slightly bent blade from a nearby corpse and secured it to his waist. Taking a deep breath to blot out the pain and gather himself together, the blacksmith and the boy set out for the expanse of destroyed trees to find Thranduil.

 

* * *

 

Thranduil had never ever in his wildest dreams, anticipated himself doing this, killing one of his own kin and savagely chasing off another. All for the sake of one Man. And of course his son. But he hadn't thought of Legolas when he'd spotted Bard atop that sentry tower, his bow broken in pieces around him and facing down a dragon twenty times his size.

Footsteps were approaching, some dozen or so men, armed with mediocre weaponry, he thought. Perhaps they were survivors of Bard's village. He could hear them from his spot sprawled amongst the splintered trees and crushed foliage, but Thranduil was too weary to move. It had been centuries since he'd gone into battle like a hot-blooded dragonling, and crossing paths with Smaug the Man Eater had taken too much out of him.

"Did you see the dead one? Big as a mountain!"

"Maybe we shouldn't go any further, the trees are all bent, what if we come across-"

"DRAGON! THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!"

Growling with annoyance, Thranduil covered his snout with a leather wing and let his eyes slide shut. They'd no doubt try and kill him, not that they could, with their pitiful steel.

"Don't, he's one of our own." The voice was familiar. Thranduil opened his eyes.

Bard, nearly doubled over from exhaustion, stood between him and the handful of villagers from Laketown. The blacksmith turned and gave Thranduil a small smile when he stirred, lifting his head slightly to peer at the scared men with dark blue eyes.

"He saved us from the bad dragons," Bard turned and looked at him, his good hand reaching out and stopping inches from Thranduil's snout. "He saved me," he whispers, voice so soft Thranduil was sure he was the only one who could hear. Thranduil moved forward and closed the last few inches of space between them and bumped his nose softly against Bard's open palm. Bard's smile widened, his hand a comforting weight upon Thranduil's scales. He could hear the villagers' gasps of wonder behind them, but Thranduil didn't care. His attention was solely focused on the man in front of him.

"I forgive you, Thranduil," Bard whispered, "I forgive you for everything."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd found Thranduil's tent without much difficulty, since it was the only one without any villagers constantly going in and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment to help me write faster! 
> 
> \- Love from da crayon :D

They'd suffered heavy losses. Snow had begun to fall once more as the survivors counted their losses and mourned the dead. Bard had helped as much as he could, with one broken wrist and body covered in bruises, but the villagers that were still standing had insisted that he rest before he fainted from exhaustion, so Bard had been shooed off by one of the wives into the temporary tents for the recovering refugees.

He'd found Thranduil's tent without much difficulty, since it was the only one without any villagers constantly going in and out. With Legolas's help, Bard had convinced the men of Thranduil's innocence and it did help that once he'd transformed back into a man, some of them had mistaken him for a particularly beautiful maiden, albeit, tall and more broad-shouldered than most of them. Bard partially blamed their mistake on shock and maybe too much adrenaline.

Thranduil had collapsed halfway to the temporary shelter and Bard had to ask for assistance with his useless wrist. He hadn't liked the idea of someone else laying hands on the man, but it couldn't be helped.

Legolas hadn't seemed too worried when his father fainted, "Ada's just tired. He hasn't fought properly for centuries. It took a lot out of him." Then, Legolas had leaned in and whispered, "he's really out of shape because he sleeps too much."

Bard hadn't been able to hold back the bark of laughter.

He sat down on the edge of the cot they'd laid Thranduil upon with a pained wince and studied him silently. There were smudges of black soot and dirt on the man's alabaster skin, stark against the pale smoothness of his cheek and somehow horribly out of place. Bard reached out his good hand to wipe it away, stopped when he realized his hand was probably even dirtier and peered around for a wash cloth. There was one on the makeshift table next to the tent entrance. Bard got up with difficulty and hobbled over to retrieve the basin of water. It felt ice-cold against his skin and he realized somebody had probably just scooped a handful of snow from outside and left it half-melted like that. They didn't have the time or patience, since there was so much to do and so many more wounded to tend to, but Bard figured he did.

He warmed the wet cloth in his good hand until the chill didn't seem too harsh and gently wiped away some of the dirt streaked upon Thranduil's skin. He was in the middle of brushing back strands of golden hair from the man's face when Sigrid pushed her way into the tent. She froze in the doorway, a ratty blanket bundled in her arms. Bard snatched his hand back guiltily and turned to smile at her.

"Da, you're suppose to be resting." His eldest scolded as she set the blankets down and took his freezing hand gently in hers. She puffed hot breaths over his cold fingers and cradled them between her warm ones. Bard pressed a soft kiss of gratitude upon her brow. One day, she was going to make some guy a very happy man. He never wanted that day to come.

Bard allowed his daughter to fret over him for a bit longer, enjoying the attention, but she finally caved under the weight of her curiosity and turned to study the beautiful man lying beside them.

"Who is he, Da?" She asked, the unvoiced part of her question evident in her sharp hazel eyes.

_And why is he so important to you?_

Bard sighed and patted the unoccupied spot on the cot next to him. She sat, her back ramrod straight and eyes never leaving his face. Bard thought about what he wanted to say and came up with nothing.

"He helped save our village, Sig." He said simply and watched as understanding dawned in her eyes.

"Fili told me," Sigrid explained. "He told me the _dragon_ came after you."

There was a frosty undertone in her voice. Bard gathered her close with some difficulty and dropped his chin atop her curly head in a way he hadn't done since she had had her growth spurt the summer before last. Sigrid went still against him, her hair smelling of snow and ash and of the soft fragrant soaps she used to clean her locks by the river.

"I have forgiven him," Bard whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. "He's proud, but also terribly lonely, sweetling. He just wanted someone to talk to, I suppose."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?" Sigrid mumbled into Bard's neck, her voice sulky and dismayed. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, but you've never looked at another person like that, Da, not even Ma."

"Like what, darling?" He tried to sound joking and lighthearted, but his voice wavered and he knew she didn't buy it one bit.

Sigrid curled her fingers into the hem of her father's tunic and sighed. "Like he's the only thing that exists in the world, like you'd feel incomplete and lost if he weren't here."

Bard held his breath, heart thumping and ears ringing. Sigrid peered up at him with wide solemn eyes.

" _Like you love him, Da_ ," She said.

 

* * *

 

Tilda was lost.

She'd been following Bain, Aragorn and the pretty boy with the blond hair that had latched onto her Da's waist like a spider monkey last night. They'd been gathering wood to keep the camp warm and there was a small pile of twigs in Tilda's arms, but the three boys were nowhere to be seen, and she could no longer hear the sound of their voices. Bain and Aragorn had been too excited to chat with their newfound friend to pay any attention to Tilda, who took considerably smaller steps and had gradually lagged behind.

Sighing, Tilda carefully laid her pile of wood to the side and dropped down onto her knees, pressing one ear to the damp soil. Bain had taught her that this way, she would be able to hear the footfalls of people around her and pinpoint their location. There was nothing but an odd thumping noise in her ear when her cheek met the damp earth, so Tilda sat upright with a scowl, rubbing a hand over her wet ear. Bain, ever the caring older brother, had lied to her. She was in the middle of gathering the twigs back into her arms when a branch snapped behind her, the sound loud and jarring in the quiet. Tilda whirled around, dropping her twigs once more.

She blinked, and then blinked once more.

There was a small pony in front of her, its gentle brown eyes peering at the child with interest as it blew out a warm puff of breath. Tilda giggled shyly and reached out a small hand to pat the pony. A stiff cough sounded and she glanced up to see a short stout bearded man glaring intimidatingly down at her from atop the pony. Tilda clutched her skirts, took a step back fearfully and noticed that a small army of short men had ridden up behind the scowling one. There was even a large cart of what looked like supplies pulled by four ponies.

"Thorin! You're scaring her!" A disapproving voice said behind them and a small slim man pushed his way past the ponies, dressed in a smart waistcoat and thick coat. He was only half a head taller than her, and he had soft sandy blond curls and a kind smile. Tilda stared at them suspiciously. She wondered briefly whether Da could hear her if she screamed for help from here.

"Young one, we mean no harm. My name is Bilbo Baggins and I am a Hobbit." The short kind-looking man said, "we're looking for Laketown and a Man named Bard."

"Why are you looking for my Da?" Tilda asked curiously, blinking up at him.

"What does it look like, child?" The grumpy one snapped and Bilbo shot him a dirty look. _"Thorin!"_

"We come with supplies, weapons and aid! King Thorin Oakenshield and the Dwarven brotherhood of the Great City of Erebor!" Someone shouted from the back, also bearded and stout.

"Oh," Tilda said simply.

Bilbo smiled at her and reached down to help gather the fallen twigs. "Now, shall we, young lady?"

There was a small pause while the small army peered down at Tilda intently. She fidgeted with her skirts again before opening her mouth shyly.

 _"I'm lost too..."_ She whispered sheepishly, bowing her head under their expectant gaze.

There was a loud collective sigh from the company. Tilda bit her lip and stared down at her shoes when Thorin palmed his face with a loud smack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo convinced Thorin to come to Bard's aid after Kili and Tauriel returned with the Arkenstone and Thranduil left for Laketown. Poor Bilbo. Always worrying after the irresponsible ones.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will release me if you wish to remain here with your family, Blacksmith.” His words were cold and clipped, but Bard felt Thranduil’s fist tighten further, the tendons in his wrist flexing with the force of barely controlled rage.
> 
> “And if I don’t?” Bard whispered back, fingers still wrapped around Thranduil’s wrist.
> 
> Disbelief flashed briefly through the dragon king’s eyes at Bard’s words. Then he curled his lip and snarled angrily, “then I will claim you as mine and never allow you to stray from my side. You will belong to me and me only. No one will touch you without my permission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back guys! 
> 
> Leave me some love :D

When Thranduil woke, he found himself lying on a makeshift cot in a small battered tent, a well-worn but comfortable quit draped over his legs to keep him warm. It took him a second to detect the familiar presence next to him, and the strange hot urgency to make sure it was really Bard nearly overwhelmed him. Careful not to wake the sleeping figure on the edge of the cot, Thranduil angled his body to the right, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the blacksmith.

Bard looked exhausted. The lines on his pale haggard face carved like deep ravines in his skin, his cheeks sunken and brows drawn in pain. Despite everything, his Man was still alive and the way he'd stood against the other dragon, fearless and determined, silhouetted against the amber glow of the burning tower behind him. The image made Thranduil's blood boiling with a fierce pride. This was the one he had chosen, and he was always right. It was no use denying. He desired Bard with his whole being.

Then Thranduil noticed the Man's wrist, bound in a messy makeshift sling and cradled awkwardly against his side as he dozed uneasily. The skin peeping out from under the rags of bandage was a dark angry red, possibly due to blood spreading underneath the skin. A fierce possessive rage licked at Thranduil's heart, angry energy crackling like flames in his body. How dare Smaug try and destroy what was his? He would-

No, the right thing to do first was to properly bind those broken bones. Exhaustion from the battle forgotten, the blond gently detached himself from the blankets and stood, making his way to the tent flap just as a young girl carrying a bundle of clothes came bustling in. She dropped the garments in surprise and Thranduil's hands shot out in reflex, catching them before the muddy ground could soil them further. Wide-eyed, she stared at him with her mouth slightly agape. He raised one dark brow.

"Sigrid, why did you stop? Is something the matter?” A concerned male voice sounded somewhere behind her. The girl, Sigrid, swallowed noiselessly and took a step back. Thranduil ducked out of the tent, carefully fastened the flap so that the cold could not get to Bard. Then he turned around and drew himself to his full impressive height. The young girl was now frowning worriedly beside one of Thorin's nephews, the less annoying one who wasn't chatty and obsessed with his Tauriel, Thranduil’s brain informed helpfully. The young Dwarf prince was also frowning, his stance defensive. Thranduil fought the strong urge to roll his eyes as he sidestepped them and made his way toward the edge of their temporary camp.

"Where are you going?" Surprisingly, the girl came after him, shoving the bundle of clothes on a passing villager.

"To gather herbs. My blacksmith needs proper tending.” Thranduil said without turning back.

“Let us help, it will take less time if there are more people.” She insisted, and strangely, Thranduil allowed this. Perhaps he was tired and impatient to get back to Bard, or perhaps he’d seen a pale shadow of Tauriel’s fierce courage in her eyes. He didn’t know and didn’t want to find out. Instead, he quickened his pace, walking deeper into the forest, his footsteps crunching loudly on the freshly fallen snow. He ignored their frantic whispers behind him and bent to the ground, fingers expertly plucking a few dark blue petals from a nearby bush. Silently, Sigrid offered up her satchel. He put the flowers into the bag and motioned for her and the Dwarf to find more. They spread out in search for more of the dark blue flowers while Thranduil approached a darker thorny thicket. The ground around the Dragongrass was bare of any life, the soil dark and wet. He stood there for a moment, contemplating the best way of acquiring the grass when the girl stumbled back, her cheeks flushed from the cold and excitement, fistfuls of the blue flowers clutched in her hands.

“Look what we found!” She said excitedly.

“Do you have a knife?” Thranduil asked, his odd question taking her by surprise as her smile became somewhat guarded.

“Why do you need one?” It was the Dwarf who asked, his broad hand sliding to his hip, where his weapons were concealed. Thranduil fought off his sigh of annoyance.

“Dragongrass requires the blood of a Dragon to nullify the deadly poison in its leaves, which will turn the plant into one of the best herbs for healing broken bones.” He explained, holding out one long-fingered hand. Fill only hesitated a fraction of a second before he handed a gleaming dagger over, handle first. Thranduil smiled thinly and without hesitation, ran the sharp edge across his left palm. Sigrid gasped, horrified when ruby red drops spilled over his clenched fist.

It only took a few moments for the black plants to turn ash grey, red veins threading through the surface of each leave. Thranduil bent to pick them up, walking back to the two youngsters standing together. He stuffed the plants into the girl’s pack, blinking in surprise when she caught his hand and without a word, swiftly bound the sluggishly oozing wound in his hand in soft clean linen.

“Da would be mad if I brought you back hurt, you’re not the only one who cares,” She said calmly. Her gaze was steady and unafraid when she stared up at him. The Dwarf had the atrocity to laugh at the stunned expression on Thranduil’s face before he turned to walk back to their camp.

She was his child? How could he have not noticed?

Muttering a silent curse to himself, Thranduil followed the two youngsters out of the trees.

 

* * *

 

The dull throbbing pain in his broken arm was gone. It was the first thought that flashed through Bard’s mind when the world shimmered back into focus. he took a long leisurely breath and shifted, bumping into something warm. Then the memories of the attack came crashing back and he bolted upright, heart pounding.

Thranduil was no longer asleep in the bed. Instead, the blond man had seated himself next to Bard and was currently fixing his bandaged wrist a better makeshift cast, a bowl of half-empty something next to his elbow. Bard’s heart clenched at the sight, the fingers of his other hand reaching out unconsciously and tangling in the cool silky strands of Thranduil’s hair.

“Am I still dreaming?” His voice was hoarse and weary. They were alone in the tent, but the dragon king chose not to reply, his fingers still ghosting over Bard’s broken wrist with the same degree of tenderness as he fastened the last of the bandages. When he did look up, Thranduil’s icy blue eyes were filled with barely controlled rage. Bard flinched back from the violent storm of emotions in his gaze.

“You fool,” Thranduil said, voice shaking at the end. He shot to his feet, an unconscious gesture really. His hands were balled into tight fists at his side.

“I,” Bard tried to speak, but Thranduil silenced him with a fierce glare.

Bard noticed the crimson-spotted cloth bound around one of Thranduil’s clenched fists, the redness of blood soaking through. Without thinking, he reached out and took the man’s wounded hand, brows drawn in worry.

“You’re hurt, Thranduil. How did this happen?” Bard demanded, trying in futile to pry open the tightly clenched fingers to inspect the seriousness of the wound. Thranduil refused to cooperate, the line of his body still rigid with tense fury.

“It’s time for me to leave,” he said coldly and attempted to pull away. Bard tightened his grip on the blond’s wrist, refusing to let go.

“I need to tell you something, Thran-” he started to say, but Thranduil interrupted Bard, his eyes alight with some foreign emotion that sent Bard’s heart pumping into overdrive.

“You will release me if you wish to remain here with your family, Blacksmith.” His words were cold and clipped, but Bard felt Thranduil’s fist tighten further, the tendons in his wrist flexing with the force of barely controlled rage.

“And if I don’t?” Bard whispered back, fingers still wrapped around Thranduil’s wrist.

Disbelief flashed briefly through the dragon king’s eyes at Bard’s words. Then he curled his lip and snarled angrily, “then I will claim you as mine and never allow you to stray from my side. You will belong to me and me only. No one will touch you without my permission.”

Bard swallowed thickly. He’d been anticipating something along the lines, but he had not expected to hear the fierce possessiveness in Thranduil’s voice. Heat coiled in his chest and settled thick and hot around his ribs, making it hard to breath. His fingers were trembling around Thranduil’s wrist, but Bard was past caring.

He sucked in an unsteady breath and closed his eyes. It was no use denying the inevitable anymore. He had always been painfully honest with himself, and when Bard decided on something, he stuck with it to the end.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, pressing chapped lips to the cool smooth skin of the blond man's knuckles. “I’m sorry I ran.” Bard kissed the back of his hand, hazel brown eyes peering up into Thranduil’s shocked blue ones. He lowered his gaze submissively and pressed another humble open-mouthed kiss to Thranduil’s now unclenched palm. He had somehow slid off his seat during the confrontation and was now kneeling at the dragon king’s feet, the man’s hand still clutched tightly in his.

The next moment, Thranduil had seized a fistful of Bard’s hair, forcing the blacksmith to tip his chin up and baring his throat. Bard swallowed thickly and let his eyes flutter shut, a flash of heated anticipation coursing through his body. Thranduil narrowed his angry eyes and bent down to breath his next words against Bard’s throat.

“You infuriate me, human.” He hissed before claiming Bard’s lips in a fierce possessive kiss.

“Thran- I’m sorry I…” He gasped between the bruising kisses, rising to his feet to meet the hard planes of Thranduil's body.

“Da, a small army of Dwarves just showed up with Tilda! They have supplies!" The tent flap flew open as an excited Sigrid and the three boys who’d gone out for firewood stumbled inside.

Bard froze, his good hand still tangled in Thranduil’s long blond locks. The dragon king wasn’t any better, what with his mouth stuck to the exposed column of Bard’s throat and his knee pressed between the blacksmith's open thighs.

“Oh my god.” Bain slapped a hand over his own eyes. Sigrid gasped and turned around, the tips of her ears flushing crimson with embarrassment. Aragorn looked terribly confused.

“ _Finally,_ Ada.” Legolas muttered and crossed his arms over his chest.

“EVERYBODY OUT!” Bard groaned, his face firmly pressed against Thranduil’s shoulder and trying in vain to gather the tattered remains of his dignity.

“I need therapy. Or a whole keg of the strongest ale.” Bain turned on his heels and promptly walked out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor poor Bain. :P


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have mercy, my lord.” Bard gasped hoarsely, his neck flushed red and eyes watering.

“Have mercy, my lord.” Bard gasped hoarsely, his neck flushed red and eyes watering.

“I will not. Now cease your squirming, Blacksmith.” Thranduil returned coolly, dragging a whalebone brush through Bard’s tangled hair and working loose the knots with deadly efficiency.

“I will go bald, Thranduil.” The blacksmith complained, but he leaned his weight back against the smooth planes of the dragon king’s body and closed his eyes.

“Good, perhaps then you will treat your locks with more care.” The blond scoffed, rubbing long tapered fingers soothingly against Bard’s scalp. “Do you always carry grass seeds and small twigs in your hair?”

Bard chose to tug childishly on a silky golden strand of Thranduil’s hair as retaliation, his lips quirking up in a faint smile. Thranduil paused when his vigorous combing revealed the light splattering of silver at Bard’s temples. The blacksmith noticed his pause and took one of his hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. “Will you put those fancy elaborate braids in for me, my Lord?”

Thranduil’s chest tightened at the sight of the crows feet etched at the corners of Bard’s hazel eyes as the blacksmith smiled. He would not permit time to rob him of his treasure, the dragon king vowed silently before resuming his task of taming the blacksmith’s wild locks, long tapered fingers sliding over the dark strands with practiced expertise.

“They represent my intention of courtship, Bard.” He told him, smirking a little at the man’s flustered blush.

“Ah, I see.” Bard replied slowly, the tips of his ears faintly pink. “And here I thought you might just be using this as an excuse to hide in here and avoid the Dwarves.”

“I admit I may have harbored the intention of leaving Thorin at the tender mercy of your youngest child for just a bit longer.” Thranduil admitted easily. Bard laughed at that, his warm eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Tilda has taken a liking to the grumpy king, I suppose.” He said, rising to his feet when Thranduil reluctantly released him. Bard’s eyes widened slightly when he turned to study his reflection in the polished piece of bronze propped in a corner of the room.

“I am impressed, my King.” He smiled and leaned over to brush a teasing kiss against the stern corner of Thranduil’s mouth, before lifting the tent flap with his good hand and slipping outside. Briefly stunned speechless, Thranduil followed.

 

* * *

 

Sigrid stood with her back against the rough bark of a thick oak and watched as her younger sister played with the King Under the Mountain. She didn’t know who he was or how they’d become friends, but judging by the quietly stunned expression on Fili’s face, it was obviously something that the king didn’t do very often. It didn’t matter, because the Dwarves had brought wagons of supplies and food with them when Tilda had rode into camp, proudly atop King Thorin’s fur-clad shoulders. Besides, the burns on Sigrid’s hands had finally stopped throbbing after the third change of bandages, so she was content to just rest and observe for a while.

“Again!” Tilda ordered, her cheeks flushed bright pink with laughter and excitement as the stout Dwarf caught her after an effortless toss. She giggled, delighted, when the grumpy king obeyed, throwing her in the air once more. This time, when he caught her, she saw her Da and his tall intimidating friend walking up to them, so she patted Thorin’s bearded cheek to get his attention and pointed to the approaching men with a silent finger.

“King Thorin,” Sigrid watched in fascination as her father bowed briefly toward the King Under the Mountain. Thranduil, whom Aragorn had told her, was an actual dragon in the disguise of a man, stood stiffly next to Bard, his cold blue eyes flashing in contempt at the sight of the Dwarf King. Sigrid secretly thought that he was the most beautiful being she’d ever had the fortune to set eyes upon, and the thought of him courting her father brought a blush to her cheeks. But Sigrid could tell Bard truly felt something for the haughty dragon king, so she would give them her blessings.

“Dwarf.” Thranduil muttered in a half-assed attempt at a greeting when Bard nudged him forcefully with an elbow to the side.

“Dragon.” King Thorin returned icily. They then refused to speak another word to each other. Fili, who was seated crosslegged at her feet, shrugged when Sigrid turned to him with a puzzled look.

“For the love of-” Bard started, hands on his hips.

“You set my front door on fire!” Thorin barked suddenly, making Sigrid’s father jump as he jabbed a finger at the dragon. Thranduil’s lip curled in barely concealed contempt as he drew himself to his full height.

“No, I set the trees in front of your door on fire.” He drawled lazily. Standing between the two arguing kings, Bard rolled his eyes so hard Sigrid almost pitied her father.

“Aye, that’s Lord Gidion’s heir alright. It’s in yer blood to be a leader, as it is destiny for these two fools to get over their petty squabble.” A satisfied voice said behind Sigrid. She whirled around to face a white bearded Dwarf with kind eyes. He smiled at her just as another voice, younger and more joyous shouted Fili’s name.

Fili waved at the handsome dark-haired Dwarf racing toward them with a broad delighted grin. He skidded to a stop a few feet away and bowed at Sigrid, who blushed a little and allowed him to kiss the back of her bandaged hand. Fili arched an eyebrow and tossed a clump of loose grass at his sibling.

“Kili, at your service, milady.” The dark-haired Dwarf says, winking at her. “I see you have already met my brother.”

“Brother?” She echoed before smiling. “Ah, I see the resemblance.”

“Do you, Sigrid? Do you really?” Fili sighed, stretching his legs out and patting the spot next to him. Sigrid seated herself along with Kili, carefully tucking her skirt around her legs. The blond Dwarf fiddled absently with a woven chain of tiny blue flowers in his fingers.

“Let me guess, you are the younger of the two?” She asked Kili, who threw his head back and laughed, delighted.

“I approve of her entirely, Brother.” He said, winking at Fili. The older Dwarf kicked at his younger sibling without glancing up. Sigrid allowed Tilda to worm her way into her lap when the small girl had gotten bored playing with the ponies tied up at a nearby tree. She peered up at the Dwarf brothers with solemn curiosity in her hazel eyes.

“So, what do you think old flame breath is going to do?” Kili suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Fili looked up at the tent where the three arguing men and the old Dwarf had disappeared into and shrugged.

“The Man-Eater Smaug roams the land once more. Even if Uncle does not wish to make an alliance with the Dragon, he has very little choice. Desperate times call for desperate actions.” He said grimly.

“What is the reason for their argument, if I may ask?” Sigrid interrupted their tense conversation. Fili explained the age-long grudge while Kili made weird faces at the little girl in her lap.

“So he’s angry over a piece of rock?” Sigrid couldn’t really keep the skepticism out of her voice. Kili grinned as Fili shrugged.

“The Arkenstone has always been a symbol of power and unity in our kingdom.” He said.

“But if it turns all of your kings mad, it kind of destroys that symbolism doesn’t it?” She pointed out. “I know how important physical items are, especially if they have meaning behind them, but in the end, it is not the stone that decides the qualities of a great leader, is it? It’s the man, or the Dwarf, in your uncle’s case.”

Sigrid continued, “years ago, Bain broke the bracelet Ma gave me before she died, and I was furious with my little brother because it was the only thing I had left that belonged to her. I didn’t speak to him for weeks, and I said things, horrible things, to him. It was only after Bain injured himself trying to mend it that I realized the bracelet was nothing but a piece of fancy metal, all the memories, all the love and courage my mother gave me was here all along,” She laid her palm over her heart. “And nothing can take that away. If your uncle is a great king, then he does not need a silly stone to prove it.”

Kili blinked out of his trance, speechless. Sigrid ducked her head with an embarrassed little smile when he burst into vigorous applauds. Fili watched her without saying a word, his golden eyes warm with understanding.

“Boys, stop chatting up the pretty little ladies and get over here!” A burly Dwarf with thick muscular arms and a bald head shouted over at them, making Tilda jump. “Grab your bows and knives. We need some meat in the stew tonight!”

“We’ll be right there, Dwalin.” Fili rolled gracefully to his feet. He hesitated before turning to Sigrid and gently taking her left hand. “I am sorry for your loss, Lady Sigrid.” He said solemnly, wrapping the delicate chain of small blue flowers around her wrist like a promise. “Perhaps when this is all over, you will allow me to personally craft a piece worthy of your beauty.”

Behind him, Kili’s mouth dropped open, much to Sigrid’s confusion. She blinked up at him, Tilda still perched in her lap like a large cat.

“Oh, that would be lovely Thank you, Prince Fili.” She said absently, cheeks warm and feeling a bit clueless as she watched him bow neatly and turn to leave.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I See Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3549191) by [MacBeka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacBeka/pseuds/MacBeka)




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